The Singularity Gene (2024)

THE PRIVATE JET vanished into dense clouds shrouding Wyoming’s Medicine Bow Peak. Two young priests gazed to the pristine mountain valley below.

“Final approach.”

“Thank you.” John Mullen turned to watch the jet descend.

Father Antonio de Montesinos studied Father Manuel de las Casas, gazing down to the green valley. The cabin began tilting as the jet aligned to land. He tightened his belt. “Have you met him?”

Manuel shook his head. “You?”

“No.”

Antonio was on board when the jet climbed out of Brazil for Iquitos, Peru. Manuel boarded there and cleared U.S. Customs. They knew the other’s reputation. They met as Manuel boarded. Except for polite remarks, each remained silent, lost in private thought to the magnitude of Mullen’s plan.

The massive jet landed softly and rolled to a stop, beside a dark blue Range Rover.

Michelle Cumberland watched Antonio emerge from the jet bridge, ducking his head and looking her way. Manuel emerged beside him, shorter with sun-streaked brown hair pointing in several directions at once, from the intense wind.

They glanced about before quickly descending the jet stairs. Manuel held onto a handrail, against buffeting wind gusts.

Michelle extended long legs as she stepped from the Range Rover. Long strands of silky, platinum hair shimmered and snapped behind her.

She locked eyes. “Welcome to Saratoga, Wyoming. Thank you for coming.” Michelle’s hand extended. “I am Michelle Cumberland. I will take you to John Mullen.”

Michelle’s platinum hair reached mid-back and she stood over six foot two. John and her grandmother, twins, descended directly from Freydís Eiríksdóttir and Norwegian vikings of Iceland. It showed.

Fifteen minutes later, the Range Rover turned onto the highway leading to Medicine Bow Peak. After crossing three small bridges, they turned onto a gravel road bordered by pastures.

“The compound sits atop mining operations abandoned early in the last century. The tunnels are extensive and deep.” Michelle explained, wrestling the Range Rover up a steep final slope.

Buckled into the back, Antonio never took his eyes off Michelle. She never took her eyes off his view in the rearview mirror.

As they stopped, Antonio looked around. Late afternoon shadows along the mountain stretched in anticipation of evening’s darkness.

Above them, the great mountain climbed into the sky. The compound lay midway up its western slope and blended invisibly into the delicate patchwork of timber, wild flowers and glacial debris.

Michelle walked them down a river-pebble driveway. She ushered them inside and down a long hall to a library where enormous windows overlooked a pristine mountain valley and, in the distance, Saratoga, Wyoming.

A lone figure faced them, silhouetted against a setting sun. An ancient hand invited them to the chairs in front of the desk. He smiled. “Thank you for coming.”

Michelle left the room.

Metal plates descended over the windows. The sun’s red glare vanished. The room brightened. Mullen rose and came slowly from around the desk, his right hand extending.

“I am John Mullen.” Deeply set gray eyes stared from the weathered face. He and Antonio, the same height, looked each other in the eye. “It is an honor to meet you both.”

“Please, be seated.” As they did, he sat between them, old hands folding into his lap. “Father De Montesinos, I understand you spoke recently with Father Bernadine.”

“I have.”

“And you Father De las Casas?” John asked.

“Yes.”

“You reviewed the technicals provided during your flight?”

They nodded.

“You are both convinced the blood within the relic Father Bernadine provided was from the cross upon which your Jesus died and the child growing within Carlota was cloned from his blood?” John asked, studying their faces.

“Yes.” Manuel answered instantly, as Antonio nodded.

***0001

A RUGGED YOUNG legionnaire clenches his jaw and grips a sweating brown forearm with one hand and positions the gleaming silver spike with the other. A larger legionnaire kneels beside him with a mallet. Dust rolls across the man’s bloody face. The mallet raises high. “Got him? Equus indomitus, this one.”

“Wait.” The young legionnaire glances to the grizzled legionnaire kneeling to his right. “Grab him by the wrist. Stretch him good.”

He looks to Cnaeus, kneeling to his left. Cnaeus, assigned to Judea from the Emperor’s personal execution team in Gaul, holds the man’s right arm by the wrist. “Cnaeus, stretch him real good!” Cnaeus nods.

Cnaeus and he are the same age, tent mates and have bled together in combat. They trust and love each other.

The grizzled legionnaire pulls the left arm with his full weight. As he does, Cnaeus yanks the right arm, with his full weight. The man cries out amid loud popping sounds. The young legionnaire hopes the popping carries to the Prefect’s ears.

The young legionnaire nods, rocks his weight onto the man’s newly stretched left arm to best position the gleaming silver. “Got him!”

The mallet and the spike drive blood and tissue deep into freshly hewed timber. Hot blood splashes across his face and into his eyes.

Pale blue eyes stare through flakes of dry blood. Cracked lips open, trembling badly. The young legionnaire presses his ear onto them. They are warm and wet with blood. He presses down his ear harder.

“Who are you?” He gasps for air.

“Longinus.”

A branded tongue forms words, with trembling lips. “Bless you, Longinus.”

***0002

JOHN ROSE FROM his chair and stood beside Michelle. “Let us introduce you. She is eager to meet you.”

The two priests followed them down another hallway to an elevator.

“Carlota Cabral,” Michelle instructed as they approached it.

Bronze doors slid apart, they stepped inside and the elevator initiated a rapid descent. After a minute, the priests realized how deeply they were descending.

Michelle announced softly, “We are on the way, Carlota.”

The elevator eventually slowed and stopped. They stepped into a new corridor. A large steel doorway glistened at the distant end. Their footsteps echoed as they walked toward it.

The doors parted to a receiving room of enormous proportions. A young woman stood at its center.

Huge granite walls sloped outward to a domed ceiling thirty meters above, where blazing lights lit the cavernous room. A thin slice of shining water cascaded down the far wall with a soft hiss, filling a shallow reflecting pond with mist. The polished granite floor gleamed back to the blazing lights.

Carlota stood erect, facing them, clasping her hands in front of her waist.

Carlota was average height but average ended there. A young angel’s face. Child-like brown eyes. Shiny black hair gathered to the crown of her head. Her face was golden brown and she was eight months pregnant.

She walked slowly toward them, extending her hand, smiling broadly. “John . . . Michelle.”

John touched her hand before turning to introduce his guests. “Carlota, please meet Father Antonio de Montesinos and Father Manuel de las Casas.”

“Father De Montesinos; Father De las Casas,” Carlota extended a hand to each. “I am honored, deeply honored.”

“We are honored, deeply honored, Holy Mother.” Manuel answered.

“I understand you, too, are from Peru.”

He nodded.

She turned and looked up to Antonio, “And you are from Brazil, Father De Montesinos?” He nodded.

“Boa Vista?”

“Yes.”

“Father De Montesinos and Father De las Casas would like to dine with us tonight, Carlota,” John said.

“John and Michelle speak so highly about you that I haven’t slept much since learning that you were coming today.” She smiled broadly. “We cannot thank you enough.” She put her hand atop her extended belly.

“Can you join us at eight?” John asked.

“Of course,” Carlota answered.

“We’ll see you then.” Carlota touched Manuel’s hand gently.

John and Michelle turned to leave. The priests stood transfixed, staring at Carlota before quickly following. Manuel looked back just as he re-entered the corridor. Carlota stood motionless, smiling to him and waved gently. Manuel waved back, bowed his head and hurried to the others.

***0003

THE YOUNG LEGIONNAIRE kneels to grab the bloody left arm of the unconscious and battered, naked man sprawled beside him. Closing his fingers around the muscular, sinewy olive brown forearm, he slams it onto the crossbeam, as hard as he can, to impress the Praetorian Prefect motionless in the distance with a centurion, watching.

Pale blue eyes open slowly and the man looks to him. The legionnaire’s curly-haired head eclipses the blazing sun overhead and acquires a halo, as he stares down. The legionnaire is impressed. Lucius Sejanus, Praetorian Prefect of Emperor Tiberius, sailed from distant Capri to see this man crucified with five solid-silver spikes, sent by Tiberius Caesar. Each inscribed with the Etruscan warning to ‘listen to whispers and heed signs.’ “Thunl avil thufra, tlel achres falna.”

“Five solid silver spikes to send you on your way,” he pauses at the scale of imperial wealth, “from a generous Emperor and hand-delivered by his Praetorian Prefect, mighty Sejanus, the second most powerful man of Rome.” The legionnaire whistles down to the man softly.

***0004

ACROSS THE ATLANTIC, in a vast, second-floor Vatican office, Cardinal Hans Rajunt eased thin reading glasses from his brow and inhaled, before placing them upon his desk. He closed his dark eyes for an instant, and then looked up to the bishop trembling before him. “And when was this?” he hissed, his eyes squinting.

“We do not know, Your Eminence.” The bishop cleared his throat.

“What do we know?” The cardinal asked, glaring.

“We know one of the three fragments of the Holy Cross, upon which our most perfect Savior was crucified, is missing.”

“Which of the three fragments is gone?”

“Fragment I, Your Eminence.”

“When was it last inventoried?” The cardinal asked, with long, thin fingers tracing the gold wire rim of his glasses.

“Two years ago,” the bishop answered nervously.

“Bring me its inventory file. Now.”

As the bishop’s footsteps on marble became harder and harder to hear, Rajunt opened his eyes and gazed at the black-and-white painting that he had commissioned and just delivered to hang in prominence in his grand office. Tomas de Torquemada, Grand Vatican Inquisitor, hunter of heretics and the Vatican’s finest warrior for Jesus, smiled down knowingly to Cardinal Hans Rajunt, heretic hunter.

When new footsteps on marble became easier and easier to hear, Rajunt swiveled his squeaky high-back chair to face the giant window overlooking the distant gardens. He closed his eyes.

The bishop departed. The cardinal slowly opened his eyes and whispered “Speak to me brother Tomas.” He sat motionless for hours, staring into space, dark eyes never blinking, listening for whispers from the dark.

***0005

LEGIONNAIRES HOIST THE struggling man and the crossbeam atop a rough crux simple, in one giant effort, nod grand success to Longinus and suddenly point excitedly at the man. Longinus, followed by Cnaeus, turn and gaze.

Startlingly enormous proportions swing wildly in front of their faces, as the man struggles to breathe.

Jaws drop. Eyes widen. Gaius whispers breathlessly. “Magnificent.” Cnaeus, without breath, stares open-jawed.

Gaius steps forward, reaching up to fit a giant orb onto his palm. He bounces it roughly, weighing it.”Taurus Magnificuss!”

He releases it back to wild swinging, as the man struggles for air, and reaches down for the apple of his eye. Unable to close calloused fingers around it, he tightens his grip, yanks it down as hard as he can and stretches it straight outward, as if erect. “Glycon!!”

His team around him freezes, watching with astonishment.

“Now I understand why you must die, you bring envy to all the gods.”

“Your name.” Prefect Sejanus materializes.

Longinus releases Glycon to wild swinging, as the man struggles for breath. He arm-clasps his chest in rigid attention.

“Longinus, Dominus. Gaius Proculeius Longinus.”

Verus Brutus Decimus, Sejanus’ centurion, materializes suddenly, seizes the wildly swinging Glycon by the throat, positions serpent’s head and silver spike to crux simple. He raises a large silver mallet, high into the air.

A horrid scream announces the mallet’s success.

***0006

RAJUNT’S SCARLET ROBE billowed as he strode majestically with commanding stride, along a stretch of hallway to the Belvedere Courtyard. The shiny red hem of his silk robe slithered in quick pursuit several stairs behind as he descended the giant winding stairs leading to Father Bernadine’s sanctum in the basem*nt of the Sacred Museum.

He did not bother to knock, pushing the door open with one hand, ”I would speak to you.”

Ross Bernadine looked up, “Hello, Hans.”

Rajunt despised such informality from anyone, but especially Bernadine. “I would speak to you.”

Bernadine lowered his book and motioned for Rajunt to take a seat. The cardinal remained standing.

“I understand Fragment I, which had been in your sacred care,” Rajunt stressed, “is now missing.”

“It’s gone but not missing,” Bernadine corrected the cardinal, his voice crackling with age.

Cardinal Rajunt hated replies that delayed an accurate understanding. “Do you know where it is?”

“Of course. It remains in my care.”

“Where is it?”

“I won’t tell you.” Bernadine returned to the last bite of his bagel.

“You will and now.”

“I don’t think you’re right about that, Hans,” he said, chewing the bagel.

“You will not leave the Vatican until Fragment I has been secured,” Rajunt announced. His eyes widened and blackened.

“As with everything, Hans, you’ll be the last to know.” Bernadine smiled back. Deep crevices etched the smile.

“Where is it?”

“Where it is safe from you.”

“Where is that, Father Bernadine?”

***0007

“I RETURN TO Villa Jovis on the ides. You will accompany the fleet.”

“Dominus.” Longinus arm-clasps his chest. Last night commends the question. “May I speak, Dominus?”

“Speak.”

“May I bring my new young wife, Antonia? We married just last moon.”

“Yes.” Sejanus smiles. “You will attend the Emperor, personally, as I command, and daily report if his attention has shifted from Villa Jovis to Rome.”

“Give name to legionnaire standing beside you.” Sejanus eye-balls Cnaeus, who arm-clasps his chest, excitedly. Sejanus ignores the salute and turns to Gaius.

“Cnaeus, Dominus, assigned to Judea from the Emperor’s special execution team in Gaul.”

Sejanus discovers, suddenly, that the mad Emperor has special execution teams. His blood turns cold.

He turns back to Cnaeus to redouble study of the young legionnaire. Fit and manly. Square-jawed and handsome. Blond straight hair. Sejanus had never seen a blond legionnaire.

“You will both accompany the fleet.”

Both legionnaires snap to attention and arm-clasp with excited vigor.

Sejanus orders Cnaeus to return to duty and turns focus to Gaius.

“Dominus!” Gaius swells with pride and arm-clasps his chest, eager to tell Antonia. He wonders if he might make the Praetorian Guard, top salaries in the Empire and the chance to remake the world he promised Antonia. Gaius and Antonia are in love, newlyweds.

“Could I ever,” Longinus, hesitates, but braves the now-or-never, “become a Praetorian Guard of the Emperor of Rome?”

“What loyalty do you pledge to your Prefect, Gaius Proculeius Longinus?”

“My life.” Gaius arm-clasps his chest as hard as he can.

“I don’t need your life, Gaius Proculeius Longinus, I need only your loyalty.”

“As the Emperor’s favored Praetorian, you must hold his attention by your loyalty to me, hold his attention to Villa Jovis and off Rome. When great Tiberius takes sleep, he will be attended by other guards.” Sejanus stared at the young Praetorian. “Lock eyes to mine.”

***0008

BERNADINE’S ATTENTION DRIFTED back to the book in his lap, dismissing Rajunt with a gentle flick of his hand.

Rajunt’s silence caught Bernadine’s attention. He looked up to watch the cardinal survey his desk.

The cardinal sidled up to it, lifting the top paper to see its title. An obscure archeological writing. Nothing. He dropped it. Long fingers brushed aside papers of no consequence. The few shards of clay pottery scattered along the edge of the mangled old desk held no fascination. He was searching particular names in the piles of papers littering the desk.

Bernadine struggled onto his feet and tried to wedge between the cardinal and the desk. He looked up to the cardinal, “May I help you?”

“You already have.” Rajunt turned and strode from the room.

Bernadine’s eyes followed him until the shiny red cape disappeared around the corner. He walked to the door, closed it, and returned to stand over his desk.

He looked at the thin book Rajunt had pulled to the top of the pile. TOMORROW’S MESSIAH by Father Manuel de las Casas.

“You old fool,” Bernadine thought to himself. His hands trembled as he swept all the papers from his desk and into a dog-eared cardboard box beside the desk.

***0009

AS GAIUS LOCKS eyes with the Prefect, he drifts on ebb tides of sweet memory of last night with beloved Antonia.

On return from day’s hard work, covered in dirt, Antonia announced that it was his birthday and she had arranged a special celebration of thanks to the gods for him.

Antonia’s excited birthday festivities for him began by bathing him for an hour, drying him everywhere, slowly, then guiding him by gentle hand to their bed, dozens of candles just lit around their bed, covered by rose petals from her flower garden.

She signaled him to his stomach and he leaped onto his belly, with great smile, eager to please beloved Antonia.

“Close eyes, beloved young husband, and drift wherever you want. I will always be there with sure hand. I promise. Drift peacefully, young husband Gaius, dream best thoughts to come. I give celebration of gratitude to the gods for you.”

She lathered every inch of him, slowly, with warm and scented oils. Gaius slumbered gently as she rubbed him down with hot and fragrant oils. Brown eyes closed, and he gave thanks to the gods for beloved Antonia. Strong fingers softened each knotted muscle on his back before sliding lower. When delicate fingers slid to the hilltops of his butt and oiled fingers pressed for entry where no one had gone, soft brown eyes snapped open.

“Antonia?” He spoke while inhaling his air.

“If Gaius prefers morning pleasures, roll to your back. I will suck your thick co*ck until rooster’s call, with joy, this night of Antonia’s celebration in gratitude to those gods who guide your feet to mine, by silent hand.” She looks deeply into Gaius’ brown eyes.

“I give best pleasures to my beloved Gaius always, whether in bed, the barn or atop your horse, at full stride, riding naked together into the wind, my legs wrapped around your back and my fingers gripping the hairs on your Roman chest. You should see your eyes then, Gaius. They glow.”

Antonia took breath.

“Your safety and health, your gently moaned pleasures, and, most of all Gaius, your gentle, gentle smile be near me and our children, is Antonia’s prayer to the gods who guide your path, with silent hand. And you know what, Gaius?”

“What, Antonia?

“I say my prayer to Venus, when she first appears after sunset. After milking the cow in the barn, while thinking of beloved Gaius, I hurry to the corral and search her out to thank her for always guiding you to my side and give plea, if that be your wish, that she hold you beside me. You are beloved beyond life, Gaius. You are beloved to me.”

“As you are to me, Antonia.”

Gaius relaxes muscled cheeks.

Three oiled fingers quickly press to advantage and young husband’s muscled butt arches to prominence. Like a cat. Five times, before the rooster sang.

Gaius limps to work with a smile. Upon arrival to tent, he quietly commends Cnaeus, to give it a go, at least twice.

Cnaeus’ eyes widen. “Gaius, Roman men are men, not women or Greeks. I am a Roman man. Are you?” Cnaeus looks suddenly to legionnaires under his command, signaling for help.

“You fear adventure.” Gaius knows how to pluck every string on Cnaeus’ lyre. One at a time.

The greenest eyes in the empire stare blankly. “I am a Roman Legionnaire. I fear nothing. Nothing, Gaius.”

“You fear liking it.”

Cnaeus starts trotting to the small group of newly arrived recruits, now signaling frantically for help.

“Gaius, look out for those new guys, over there. They just arrived and excite easily. Watch your spike hand isn’t crushed by a bad mallet swing.”

“Got it, Cnaeus. Thanks. You comfort my heart ”

“As you comfort mine, brother.” Cnaeus hollers back, as he lengthens his strides to full.

Antonia’s warmly oiled fingers await and Gaius’ loins stir to action. “Time to die.” Gaius whispers and positions his lance tip between two heaving ribs and slowly sides in the blade. Hearing a scream, he finds a lung and twists until he is met with silence.

“Want to bless me again?”

Pale blue eyes watch from above, then close forever.

***0010

“AFTER FATHER BERNADINE gave us the crucifixion relic our genetic engineering lab, SYNGENTEC, extracted enough blood for cloning. Several weeks later, we implanted the embryo into Carlota. That was eight months ago.” John said, finishing the explanation to Antonio and Manuel.

John had faced the fireplace so his guests could enjoy the spectacular view of the valley at night. The dining room table was thick glass and circular, with several small candles set in the middle.

“Aren’t you frightened?” Manuel asked Carlota. Reflections from the tiny candle flames danced along the surface of his thick glass lenses.

Michelle sipped wine as she watched Carlota.

“Of what?” Carlota asked. Her face hardened but the soft brown eyes never strayed from Manuel.

“Think what you’re doing,” Manuel insisted, lifting his palms. “The implications.”

“Have you ever seen the pueblos jóvenes, the shanty towns of Lima?” Carlota asked.

Manuel nodded.

“Then you have seen how the poor are treated, as all the world’s poor are treated.” Carlota paused, “I grew up in the slums of Lima, Father De las Casas.” She glanced at John then back to the priests. “I more fear doing nothing to help my people than to give life to the child. So I agreed to give birth to him if John would permit him to be born among my people, the poor of Lima.”

“But why?” Manuel asked.

“My son will free my people.”

The table was silent for several moments.

Antonio turned to John. “Why have you done this?”

John’s eyes softened and stared into space as he traveled his tunnel of memories.

“Father Antonio, I began my pharmaceutical company seventy years ago, searching for medicines from the rainforests around the world. Since then I have witnessed unrelenting and needless poverty.”

“Nothing has changed but the numbers. Now, billions are consigned to religious oppression and economic slavery, as their station in life. Legions of children die each day from war and extreme poverty.” John’s voice rasped. “Think how many young children died, simply since we gathered here.”

He rubbed his eyes and continued, “I am diagnosed with a fatal disease. I decided to make a difference, if possible, and with the help of Socrates and Michelle. When Jesus lives again, everything will change. For better or not.” His eyes probed the priests. “But the world will change. The future can reset itself.”

Manuel nodded silently to him.

***0011

“WOULD DOMINA ANTONIA enjoy private voyage to Capri aboard your warship?”

“Warship, Prefect? I’m just a legionnaire.”

“No longer. You are the Emperor’s Praetorian now, serving him by silent loyalty.” Sejanus quickens pace.

“Your private warship, your war stallion, to speed you to Domina Antonia who waits with trembling arms for young husband’s warm embrace, your estate beside the Grand Grotto, and more awaits. Domina Antonia will want for nothing, young husband, as you display silent loyalty to Rome, as Emperor’s personal Praetorian.”

Gaius listens in stunned silence as Sejanus explains how rich he has just become. Anything Antonia wants is at his fingertips. He wonders if his life’s companions, bad luck and misery, are gone. His mainsail billows with the luck of a lifetime! Personal Praetorian of Emperor Tiberius Caesar! Gaius cannot believe how quickly fate can turn.

Gaius had only suckled the most rancid of bad luck and misery from the shriveled, black teats of Medusa, since he was ten years old, tossed face-first into the sewage gutters of foul Ostia, and the door slammed hard behind him.

Last-born to the famous one-tooth, one-leg, one-arm Vestia Scornwood, who performed to thunderous applause from packed crowds in a traveling circus. She made Gaius sing pantheons of praise to those riding for their glory, while plucking the strings of her blue circus lyre. Gaius loved to sing and hit high-notes with uncommon zeal. With a young boy’s angelic high voice, singing for tips and broth, he had a plan to discuss with Vestia’s circus manager.

Suddenly and mid-song, his young boy’s voice cracked low, manhood had just settled in between still skinny and hairless legs. Until he was 10-years old, Gaius sang with a boy’s high voice, for tips. As he sang in the deeper octaves of men, all tips stopped. Instantly.

Unable to carry his own weight, Vestia Scornweld snatched Gaius by his hair, with her good arm, and heaved her last-born, face-first into the sewage gutters of Ostia. She kicked the door shut, with her good leg. Her door slammed behind him forever.

For two days, Gaius cries for help to passing strangers. No one glances at him, even when he pleads for food.

A dog licks at his soiled face, until the owner yanks his mongrel’s collar, screaming at him. “You need some serious leash training!” Then he looks toward Gaius.

Dimitrios Varangopoulos’ feared fleet of leaky and rusted old slave ships sail around small islands, seizing defenseless families to auction on the island of Delos, the famous slaving hub of the Roman Empire. This week, Dimitrios has a ship in Ostia. Dimitrios has grown as fat as he has grown rich.

“Lock your eyes to the ground and listen to my every word.” Dimitrios drew deep breath and spoke slowly and deliberately. “If I see you here on tomorrow’s high sun, I will hog-tie you, toss you into my ship and sailed to Delos.”

Gaius locks eyes to the ground.

“Tell me you understand.” Dimitrios speaks in his lowest octave.

“I understand.” Gaius’ voice cracks from high-to-low.

Satisfied, Dimitrios spins and walks away. His mongrel cried with new leash training.

Gaius stops all shivering, stands as a Roman man and walks to the nearest mancipia, cleaning himself as best he can. He climbs onto an empty sellarium and loudly begins auctioning himself, with squeaky new voice. He cast tunic to the sellarium and assumed his pose. He flexes to a muscle pose, his skinny arms bent to swell his biceps. Slavers laugh.

“Gaze upon me! Who bids the highest for a strong young man? I grow stronger with each dawn. Bid highest and I will work hard for you, for six years. After that, I am to be freed, with your highest bid in hand.”

Vladek Aurelian laughed the loudest, pulled swelled purse from tunic and waved it at Gaius. Vladek needed a servant to Nadia, wife to son, Maksymas, often away on duty with legionnaires.

Gaius jumped from his sellarium, ran to Vladek and kneeled before him.

“What is your name?”

“Gaius.”

“Rise, Gaius. I accept your offer. Will you accept my bid of 500 denari to attend Nadia, my son’s wife, while he is on duty with legionnaires?”

Gaius rose. “I accept.”

Six years later, Gaius enlisted as the youngest legionnaire in Roman history, with 500 denarii concealed within his tunic.

Gaius never neglects human nature again. Except his own.

“Can you display noble silent loyalty, as I command, young husband of Domina Antonia and personal Praetorian of the great Tiberius, may he live forever?”

“I can and will, great Lord Prefect.” Gaius does not hesitate and stiffens to rigid attention and arm-clasps his chest armor. Gaius has plan.

“Upon docking, Domina Antonia and you will be met by beautiful wife, Livia, and eight veteran Praetorians. Livia will take Domina Antonia directly to see your private estate beside the Grand Grotto. The Praetorians will bring you to me, in my private quarters. It adjoins your private cubiculum, one of my design, 200 paces south of the imperial bed.

“The guards will leave the instant you stand before me, awaiting grand adventure as Tiberius’ personal Praetorian.

Gaius arm-clasps his chest armor sharply. “At long last, the benevolent winds of the gods favor Gaius.” Gaius whispers to himself.

“Rome commands. I obey, Dominus.”

“We will speak next when you stand before me for final instructions for noble display of your silent loyalty to Rome. Return now to duty.”

Gaius arms-clasps. “Dominus!”

***0012

“WHY DID YOU ask Father Antonio and me to help return Carlotta to Lima?” Manuel asked John .

“We looked at several hundred people but none came with the recommendations Father Bernadine gave you two,” John said then focused on Manuel. “He considers you a kind of prophet, Father Manuel. And Archbishop De Gonzales regards you both as highly as Father Bernadine. Your reputations preceded you.”

“How did you meet Father Bernadine?” Antonio asked.

“We’ve become friends over the years.”

Manuel nodded, shifting in his seat. “You are Catholic, then?”

Michelle snorted a chuckle.

John smiled. “A naturalist.”

Manuel returned John’s smile, as John continued. “Father Bernadine curated the Sacred Museum for the last sixty years. He came from Ireland early in his calling because of his advanced degrees in archeology and his command of ancient languages.”

“Were you surprised he released the crucifixion relic to your people?” Manuel asked.

“Not entirely, although we were cautious when we approached him,” John responded softly. “Archbishop De Gonzales assured me he merited our trust,” white eyebrows arched, “and we had no choice.”

“Did he fully understand what you intended to do?” Manuel asked.

“Absolutely. As did Archbishop De Gonzales,” Michelle answered for John. “They are delighted with the idea, given the blood feud between the Vatican’s heretic hunters and the liberation priests of South America.”

***0013

GAIUS STANDS BEHIND Antonia, as they stand together looking ahead, from the bow of the Imperial Warship of Personal Praetorian to Tiberius Caesar! She excitedly points at seven dolphins, swimming beside them. He looks, nods so she can feel his nod, buries his face into soft brown hair and inhales her scent.

“They see us, Gaius, they see us! Look how precise their motions nearest the bow! I’ve never seen such a thing.”

“Let’s go back below. See those distant dark clouds ahead?”

“I do, Gaius.”

“They promise sharp rocking, later tonight, from the waves that flee them. Can I show you something maybe better than our horse?”

“Gaius, you know you can!” She pivots from dolphin watching.

“You might like this more.” He laughs and heads below deck. She matches his strides effortlessly.

When heavy seas arrive, they rock his Imperial warship and hammock. The hammock attaches to the ship by giant metal springs, at each end, fashioned by sailors at his direction. Seconds after the sailors left his quarters, he and Antonia strip and oil each other, jump into the hammock, and Gaius demonstrates the physics of momentum, to Antonia’s peels of laughter.

Both giant springs bounce in exaggerated cadence, all day and all night, on this honeymoon voyage to Capri, waves or no waves. Gaius has never seen Antonia happier or more proud of him. He watches her, every night, after sunset, stand alone on the deck, looking toward Venus. Antonia is Venus.

***0014

FATHER ANTONIA DE Montesinos had been born on a small farm outside Boa Vista, Brazil, near the Venezuelan border. Even as a child, he had insisted on becoming educated, despite his family’s poverty. His parents turned him over at an early age to Iam Ignatious, the local Jesuit priest. Antonio learned all he could and became a Jesuit, leaving Brazil for medical training in the U.S. When he became a physician, he returned to his people and to care for Ignatious, now frail.

Ignatious had sent Antonio to care for the 9,000 Yanomamö in Brazil after the military expelled all doctors, nurses, missionaries, and anthropologists from the region, and left that tribe to the mercy of 50,000 invading gold prospectors.

After the gold prospectors seized the land, Antonio chronicled the contrast between the suffering of the Yanomamö and the privileged lives of the Vatican’s Society. Antonio also chronicled the speed with which the Vatican began replacing rebellious Brazilian liberation bishops with those selected by the Society, those less offended by the suffering of others.

Antonio’s excommunication was imminent.

Manuel was a Franciscan priest and engineer who lived with the poorest people in Peru, near the headwaters of the Amazon.

Like Antonio, Manuel recorded what he believed and his writings passed hand-to-hand throughout South America, echoing the call for freedom and compassion, their liberation epoch. He also predicted the fall of the Church, infuriating the Vatican’s Society.

Manuel had been tutored from infancy, the only child of a wealthy banker and an advanced mathematics professor. By the time he entered college at thirteen, he spoke seventeen languages. While training to be a Franciscan priest, he took off two years to go to the U.S. and returned with doctorates in theoretical and applied mathematics and artificial intelligence, with wizardry that cannot conceal itself.

Manuel returned to Peru to live with the poor along the Peruvian headwaters of the Amazon. His family, whose enormous wealth and generosity prevented his excommunication, considered him a delightful oddity.

As they did Antonio, the Vatican’s Society decried Manuel a religious leper . . . a liberation priest. But Manuel was even more hated by the Sendero Luminoso, Peru’s Maoist guerrillas. Michelle and John were amazed Manuel still lived.

Michelle had studied the file photo of Manuel, kneeling before village farmers and tracing his finger through dry red earth, outlining an irrigation system. He wore thick glasses and dust covered his face.

***0015

WITH HIS WARSHIP docked, Gaius watches beloved Antonia follow Livia to see their new estate aside the Grand Grotto, just gifted to him.

The eight Praetorian guards signal escort to Villa Jovis. Gaius arm-clasps to signal loyalty to command.

As the nine Praetorians enter Villa Jovis, Gaius steps into a world never seen or imagined possible. Polished white marble gleams back at the sun. Every tile inlays with solid silver. In all directions, as far as he can see.

Led through shadowed corridors and small chambers, the guards swing open both doors to Sejanus’ private quarters.

Gaius knows, standing before him, is the second most powerful man in Rome. Sejanus does not know, standing before him is the most powerful intelligence on earth, for the last 413 years and will be for 1,846 more years, taking form as a mathematical savant.

“Prefect!” Gaius arm-clasps.

“Lord Prefect, young Praetorian.”

“Lord Prefect!” Gaius arm-clasps instantly.

Sejanus stands staring, Praetorian Prefect to mighty Tiberius Caesar, himself. One hand rests atop gladius and the other atop whip, no one but Tiberius holds more of Rome’s power in his hands.

Gaius hopes someday he can strike such pose in front of Antonia.

***0016

MICHELLE STUDIED FAR more intensely, the black-and-white photo of Father Antonio, nearly naked, taken at night by a local reporter covering a flooding Amazon. The bulb flash obviously surprised him, as he returned to shore with a young Yanomamö child above his head, away from black waters.

The news clipping said that when told of a just orphaned child, lost on one of the small islands that would soon be submerged by sudden surging from the flood, Father Antonio ran to the water’s black edge and dove into the swirling waters. He swam from small island to small island, until he heard a child’s cry.

She looks at it, some evenings. Michelle is in love.

She struggled not to stare. Across from her sat the most handsome man she had ever seen, one of a kind. One of a kind. Very tall, very powerful, very lean and a body that looked chiseled from light brown Roman Emperador marble. As an architect, Michelle knows Imperial Roman marbles. Olive brown skin, thick black hair, pale blue eyes.

As Father Antonio nodded and smiled to John, his image in the photo danced in her mind’s eye, especially when he glanced to her, smiling.

Father Antonio had wrapped the child with his shirt. He held the child above his head, as he returned to shore. Flying insects clouded his face. Three giant black leeches stuck to his thighs. Sweat coursed his chest. His prominent muscled V pointed directly beneath wet, white shorts, glued-on and hanging low off one hip, as he returned to shore. Father Antonio was enormous. Everything. Everywhere. Enormous.

Michelle could hardly catch her breath and silently slipped the photo into the nearest pocket, and then into her personal vault in her private jet, for safekeeping.

Over six foot five, muscled, lean, and striated, Antonio stared into the flash, as if he could see her now.

“. . . those addicted to power will fear Him. They will seek to destroy Him.” Manuel continued to John. “We must anticipate everything.”

Manuel’s last words snapped her back to the conversation. John was watching her. Blushing, she turned to Manuel, as if following every word.

Carlota gazed out the floor-to-ceiling glass wall to the twinkling lights of Saratoga in the dark valley below and then turned slowly to Antonio and Manuel. “Soon, I return to Peru to give birth to my son,” she paused, “and hope that, before then, we can better understand each other. John and Michelle speak so highly of you that I hope you would like that, too.”

Michelle glanced back toward John. He was still looking at her.

“I would appreciate some time to get to know you both much better before we return to Peru. Michelle has offered to take us to the Winds, for a day or so.” Carlotta looked at them eagerly.

“The Winds?” Antonio asked.

“Wind River Mountains cut diagonally across Wyoming’s northwest corner.” Michelle answered. “We have a small cabin along Fremont Lake, outside Pinedale. It was my grandmother’s.”

John’s eyes drifted to the moonlit valley and the dark peaks of the Sierra Madre Mountains to the west, crowned with bright stars. He preferred for Carlota to stay within the protective cocoon of the compound until returning to Peru.

“You are worried about me, aren’t you?” Carlota asked gently, as a mother speaking to a worried child.

“Yes,” John nodded, “and the child.”

“You must not, my dear friend. If we are meant to finish this journey, nothing will stop us.” As if peering in from an ancient universe, Carlota’s child-like eyes moved to each person at the table, deliberately and slowly. “I have placed myself in God’s hands all my life. I cannot stop now.”

The two priests crossed themselves.

“I have less trust than you in those matters, as you know. But if that is your wish, we will make it so,” John said.

“We’ll be fine, John.” Michelle answered.

John nodded in silent accord. He reached for Carlota’s hand and gently squeezed it. “You’ve been here within the mountain for eight months. I worry needlessly. You go enjoy yourself, and when you’re ready to return, just say.” He smiled with old and steady eyes.

Carlota brightened, looking eagerly to the priests.

***0017

WIFE LIVIA SENDS hurried word that Domina Antonia fell in love with the estate gifted to young husband Giaus for his silent loyalty to the Emperor. But she refuses the service of slaves.”

Gaius gleams with pride at Sejanus.

“Beloved Antonia feels sorrow for slaves. She has a mind of her own, great Prefect.”

Sejanus knew that he had to find quickly, in this young Praetorian, where pride yields to fear, fear to silent loyalty, silent loyalty to rage to kill Tiberius and Atossa.

Sejanus has survived this snake pit of the gods, for fifteen years, by more luck than wit, and he knows it.

How far Rome has fallen since Great Julius Caesar. How far must it fall, before returning to much needed glory? The Roman Empire was forged by soldiers of Rome. It must be reforged by soldiers of Rome. He will find them, one by one, and resolve each to restore Rome to proper place among the gods. And find them he will. But each must prove silent loyalty.

Tiberius has spies everywhere. Even floors listen. Caution comes with its own rewards. Sejanus draws deep breath.

“Do you?” Sejanus glares.

Gaius averts eyes instantly to floor. “No Dominus.”

“Strip naked.”

Gaius’ armor and tunic instantly drop to the floor, loudly and softly.

“Kneel.” A long hairy finger points to the tips of his leather clacei, laced tightly to his knees.

Gaius kneels so closely he feels heat from Sejanus’ body, bows his head low and keeps his eyes glued to the floor, hard black marble, cold to knee. He would yet find strings to pluck on Sejanus’ lyre, one at a time.

“Good Praetorian.” Sejanus patted the top of Gaius’ head. “You are a good boy. Tell me you are my good boy, young husband of beloved Antonia.” He thumped Gaius’ forehead hard.

Gaius froze.

“Tell me you are my good boy, young husband of beloved Antonia.” Sejanus renewed his command with two hard thumps to his forehead.

Gaius drew breath. “I am your good boy, Prefect.” Gaius speaks clearly and crisply, keeping eyes locked to floor.

“Close eyes, open mouth and extend tongue, young new husband of Domina Antonia.”

Gaius obeys instantly.

“Make it hard.” Sejanus whispers.

Gaius stiffens.

Sejanus’ long, hairy finger caresses Gauius’ long tongue, pushing down on the tip.

“Harder and mouth much wider, newlywed young husband to Domina Antonia. Display loyalty to cause with new spirit. Imagine pleasing her.”

Gaius hardens tongue and widens mouth.

Sejanus’ finger smears sticky sweet brown syrup, extracted from the sweetest of grapes and exotic fruits, across a long pink tongue. When well-coated, he pushes a glazed date onto its sticky tip.

“Retract long tongue, close mouth and swallow.”

Gaius rolls in his tongue and swallows, licking sweet sapa from lips with his tongue, with wide sweeping motions. Then opens his mouth wide. Gaius is fearless when he has a plan.

Sejanus slowly returns invited hairy finger, still sticky with sweet sapa, to Gaius’ soft lips.

“Suck it clean, and with spirit, like a good boy.” Sejanus looks Gaius directly in the eye, daring him to avert cause, “Keep wide eyes locked to mine. Show me how you will suck Tiberius’ co*ck, young newlywed husband of beloved Antonia.”

Gaius nods understanding, widens and locks his eyes to Sejanus. He sucks like he’s sucking the thick marrow from bones of cattle, sheep and pigs that flavor Antonia’s stews. Now, he sucks for Antonia’s life.

Gaius knows what kind of person stands before him, brutal, stupid, and scared. Like Dimitrios Varangopoulos’ threat to hog-tie him and sell him. They kill as they breathe.

Every lyre presents strings to pluck. Gaius will pluck Sejanus like he’s never been plucked. A mathematical savant takes to the skies.

Gaius opens his mouth as wide as possible, uncurls his long pink tongue and waves greetings.

Before Gaius blinks, Sejanus shoves four hairy fingers into his throat, pushing and twisting down and into his pharynx. He fists and pushes harder, denying Gaius all air, to suffocate him. Gaius convulses, gags and floods the Imperial floor with drool.

When Gaius’ struggles suddenly find air, Sejanus shoves his fist even deeper, to prevent all breath. He intends for Gaius to learn what it means to be a slave of Tiberius. Sejanus is as fearless as Gaius, with a plan.

Satisfied by the expanding dimensions of Gaius’ trespassing drool-pool, Sejanus withdraws his hand, with exaggerated disgust. Gaius gulps for air. Sejanus flicks Gaius’ spit from his fist and wipes his fingers clean along the top of Gaius’ head. “Bad, Praetorian! Bad Praetorian! That’s a bad Praetorian” He thumps Gaius’ forehead, three times and much harder.

“Lock eyes to mine, newlywed young husband of Antonia.” Gaius locks eyes, as commanded.

Three strings of spit connect his quivering chin to his large drool-pool, glistening in torchlight. Gaius looks up from the expanding drool-pool beneath him and looks back to Sejanus. Large brown eyes plead for forgiveness.

“Fear not, young Praetorian. Your offense is quite grave. Grave indeed. But you show an unusual spirit for new adventures and your determination to display silent loyalty commends to mercy. This once.”

Sejanus thumps Gaius’ forehead more gently. “Simply learn not to drool on the Emperor’s floor, unless commanded. Drool-pools offend him without measure. He slipped once on a pool of drool remitted by his Praetorian. You don’t want to be catapulted from the cliffs of Villa Jovis. Domina Antonia will be commanded to watch, applaud, and follow you, cart-wheeling, behind you, into the clear blue skies of Capri.”

“Dominus, I beg you teach me to hold drool to throat so that the imperial floor remains dry always, Dominus.” Gaius nods, raging without reveal.

“It comes with practice, so fear not. What other talents yet conceal within you, young husband of Domina Antonia?”

“I conceal nothing, Dominus. I am but ignorant of how to best suffer for your pleasure. I long to taste your warm honey, most handsome Praetorian Prefect Lucius Aelius Sejanus, the colossus of Roman manhood. A man among men.”

Gaius’ savant mathematical mind is like sky-lightning. Everything flashes at once.

“Dominus, teach me to tease your sweet nectar to my soft lips and long tongue. Fill my taut belly with nectar, drawn from the loins of Sejanus, Lord Prefect, himself. I long secretly for your sweet nectar, the most handsome man in all of Rome. The most manly of Romen men.”

Gaius breathed a longing sigh. “I am virgin to co*ck and need only to be trained how best to pleasure mighty Sejanus, swiftly or slowly, by hand, mouth or butt. I can be trained for pleasure, Dominus. I learn fast, my Master.”

Gaius knows that beloved Antonia’s life hangs in the balance.

Suddenly, like a bird of prey, a mathematical savant searches for the symmetric spinning geometries that allow Sejanus to live.

Sejanus thumps his forehead, again. “Good boy, Gaius. Would you like that especially, the warm taste of Sejanus, flooding onto your pink tongue, young Gaius? “

“I have never hoped greater, handsome Sejanus. I stiffen, even now.” Gaius nods eagerly with eyes to floor, concealing his rage.

“Again and again, you seem blessed by those gods who favor you, eager young husband of Domina Antonia. I can be generous, indeed. Some say to a fault So I will flood your mouth and fill your belly with the sweet nectar that you now crave, every morning, as every inch of your body below your ears is shaved smooth before oiling, plugging and scenting you for harness.”

Sejanus pauses, intending words of reassurance to the wide-eyed young Praetorian.

“Shaved, Dominus? Plugged? Harnessed?”

“Yes. Shaving is slow and tedious, giving perfect chance to fulfill desire for bloated belly from mighty Sejanus. The blades you feel slowly shaving you below your ears, are smoothing your skin to the feel of silk.”

“The blades are razor-sharp. Every fold of skin is spread, stretched taut and carefully shaved to silk.” Senjanus drew breath.

“I realize you are moderately hairy everywhere, as Roman men are. But do not flinch. Ever. You must never allow yourself to be marred. Your young virgin shavers would be executed instantly. Praetorian Longinus and young wife, Domina Antonia, will be catapulted, to cart-wheel, together, into a cloudless sky above Capri. Mighty Tiberius, may he live forever, demands you be unmarred and feel as warm silk to his touch.”

“Would you be grateful for your belly filling then, from your mighty Sejanus?” Sejanus softly strokes the soft curls with hairy fingers, studying this rugged, newly-wedded young husband, so willingly kneeling naked before him and falsely confessing desire for co*ck, in effort to protect Domina Antonia.

Gaius is not the first, or last, personal Praetorian of Tiberius Caesar. He is number 72, the number of months since Tiberius took foul residence at Villa Jovis. Tiberius’ next personal Praetorian will be number 73, by next lunar, unless he is stopped. Sejanus intends to kill Tiberius.

Sejanus has survived fifteen years in this snake pit of the gods, by study.

“Gratitude Dominus.” Gaius nods eagerly, for Antonia’s life. Within, the fire of cold revenge doubles with every thump to his forehead.

“If Tiberius has turned attention to Rome, as you open wide for me while being shaved to silk below your ears, to see secret desire fulfilled, as you open wide, mouth ‘Rome,’ if I need warning, then open wider for eager feeding. If morning’s duty as Prefect, delays me, you may report as the dancing virgins flute for your attention.

”I will see it done, great Prefect.”

***0018

FATHER BERNADINE FED the lapping blue flames of the incinerator with every paper that had been on his desk, as well as any writings by Father De las Casas or Father De Montesinos. He knew Rajunt would soon confiscate his papers and relieve him of his duties at the museum.

By the time he returned to his office, it had already been sealed. A young and kind-faced Gendarme stood in front of his office door.

Bernadine looked up and smiled to the young man, “May I enter, please?”

“No, Father, you may not.” The young Gendarme set his jaw with determination.

“I see.”

“Cardinal Rajunt has commanded you to quarters and remain there, until he sends for you, Father.”

“Ah yes, Hans. Our newest Tomás de Torquemada, the Grand Inquisitor, searching heretics with Spanish gusto.”

Bernadine shuffled to his small room on the other side of the Vatican. After closing the door, he sat on the edge of his bed for a moment, caught his breath and sighed. He reached for the phone by his bed stand. The first call was to Brian O’Riley.

***0019

AN HOUR AFTER they had finished the meal, Manuel tried to stifle a yawn.

John turned to Michelle, “Would you see our guests to their suites? This has been a long day for Father Antonio and Father Manuel.”

Carlota remained seated as John bid the priests good night.

Michelle led them down the hallway to the elevator and eventually back to the great room where they met Carlota. Walking past the waterfall, they entered another room with a long curving wall and a series of large bronze doors.

With a priest on each side, Michelle walked to the third bronze door until it caught their reflection. “Socrates, this is Father Manuel’s suite.” The door slid back into the granite wall.

Michelle and Antonio each bid Manuel good night.

As the door slid shut, Manuel turned to look about the room. Recessed lights at the edges of the ceiling softly lit the room. Like the great entry room, the walls had been carved from the granite mountain, but were polished to a mirror finish. The granite floor was covered with a cream-colored Persian rug. He recognized the design and estimated it to be three hundred years old.

Tiny running lights glowed along the edges of the floor, lighting pathways to other rooms.

He walked to the bedroom and gazed in. The room was smaller than the entry room and had a lower ceiling. A large bed lay at floor level and abutted the far wall. Cut into the granite wall above the head of the bed was a small and dimly lit alcove for personal effects.

Manuel’s day began long before sunrise. The bed invited him. But he wanted to shower before sleeping.

The bedroom lights dimmed as he left. He followed the path between the running lights that led to the bathroom. The bathroom lights brightened at his approach. Shiny green exotic plants with fragrant blossoms adorned the warm room. The walls to his left and right were mirrored and their reflections of one another stretched infinitely in both directions.

An enormous sunken tub abutted the far wall. Four brass shower heads glistened high above the tub, suspended from the ceiling.

Manuel removed his clothes and walked to the steps that led to the bottom of the tub, hanging his toes over the edge. He stood at the top of the steps, looking for faucets to turn on the water.

“Father De las Casas.”

“Socrates?” Manuel’s great mind reeled with surprise. He caught himself and smiled.

“Yes. May I fill the tub for you?”

“May I shower?”

Warm mist sprayed from the ceiling. Manuel stepped into the tub, reaching out with fingertips to test the water. Satisfied, he joined the waters, threw back his head, and faced the hot spray. For several long minutes, he stood lost in his reveries. His mind burned. “So much to understand,” he whispered. “Jesus, please help me.”

“Would you like to soap first?”

“Yes, thank you.” Within seconds, Manuel began lathering his torso under a warm, soapy spray and then stood for minutes facing into a warm rinse-spray.

“End the shower please, Socrates.”

Manuel settled into bed, pulling flannel covers to his chin.

“Sleep well, Father.“

“Good night, Socrates,” Manuel mumbled and drifted away. Socrates dimmed the room and stood vigil.

Six hundred feet above, Carlota and John gazed from the dining table upon the valley below. A full moon challenged an army of blazing stars for control of the night sky. The stars in the western sky starkly silhouetted the jagged crest of the Sierra Madre range. Saratoga sparkled below, an oasis of light.

“John.” Carlota rose and walked to the massive window. She placed a finger gently upon the cold glass and gazed out. “What have we done?”

He put his arm protectively around her. “In this century, humanity will blink from existence or begin the journey to the stars. We’re doing this for a reason.”

“I wish I could be more certain that it is the best reason, John.”

“So do I.”

***0020

“ONLY WHEN TIBERIUS sleeps is your collar unleashed and you are permitted to step beyond his reach. At that brief time, you will be rested, exercised, fed, privately purged and cleansed, bathed, your body shaved to the feel of silk, suspended gently by wide-spread ankles, filled to brim with fragrant and rare slick narcotic oils, plugged tightly to prevent untimely leakage upon party floor. Fully readied to speed hope for joyous morning mood from Tiberius, may he live forever.”

“Some mornings, Praetorian, his mood is foul and unforgiving. I have seen many a wide-eyed young Praetorian catapulted from the cliffs of Villa Jovis, cart-wheeling wildly into a blue sky. Tiberius can be severe, young Praetorian, for those who fail to convince him to allow them near him. When you have suffered enough humiliation silently, without struggle and without complaint, as your display of loyalty to him, you will have his respect, but never his trust.” Sejanus explains, as if to a child.

“If he comes to regard your display of silent suffering as truly noble and not masked ambition, young Praetorian, he will allow you to be lowered to the floor, unharnessed from your swing, collared and branded, to the ceremonious applause of favored guests.”

“Branded, Dominus?” Gaius begins slight tremble.

“Only your buttocks. The Imperial brand is distinctive and placed at the prominence of each cheek. The brand is, quite impossible to miss. Trespassers beware. Don’t interrupt your Prefect again in needless question, Praetorian. Keep eyes locked to mine.”

Sejanus continues explaining, as if to a slow child.

“Make no mistake, young Praetorian, you must remain within his reach at all times when he is awake. At all times. Your collar will be leashed to his hand. If he tugs twice, quickly assume proskynein where his fingers signal. If three tugs, spread legs, lift buttocks to highest prominence and spread cheeks wide with both hands. Each number of tugs, no matter who holds your leash, is an imperial command. You will be trained to position in response to numbered tugs.”

He thumped Gaius’ forehead, again.

“Can you do that to wild party applause, reposition on tug command, for later grand compliments from favored guests, young husband of beloved Antonia? Compliments, if your leash is returned with private gratitude, will find you instantly atop your grand warhorse, proud young Praetorian to the Emperor, rushing to fill Domina Antonia’s longing arms.”

“I am eager to obey your commands, most handsome Prefect Sejanus, Colossus of Rome, man among men.”

Sejanus explores a large, soft curl on Gaius’ head, with hairy fingers. Sejanus shrugs aside empathy born from such an undeserving fate. He snatches up a handful of soft hair, hard.

“Lock eyes to mine, young husband of Domina Antonia.”

“If possible, move even faster on those occasions when Tiberius, may he live forever, greets special party guests, just arriving from Rome, with you in tow, oiled and plugged. His parties are the envy of Rome. The nobles hate him. He so enjoys when envy overcomes their disgust as he greets them at each dinner party with a new Praetorian in tow, purified, filled with the rarest of slick and fragrant oil resins, well-plugged, collared and leash-trained, in proskynesis.”

“When Tiberius gifts you as party favor to an age-spotted senator, an age-spotted widow of a dead senator, or, as much more likely, a robust and energetic, handsome large young prince, born to great wealth, with spirited curiosity to discover new pleasures, invited by your proskynesise.’ Sejanus offers encouragement. “Your leash will be returned with compliment. Their compliments, and only their compliments, will see you rewarded instantly. Atop your grand warhorse, silver-saddled, rushing to the arms of beloved Domina Antonia. Rooster’s call to duty in harness, awakens your war stallion for return to harness.”

“You would like that young husband to Dominus Antonia? Your embrace makes her happy?”

“My embrace makes Antonia happy, Dominus. As hers makes me happy. I never felt happiness until beloved Antonia.” Gaius whispers confession.

Sejanus pauses, to let a fleeting remnant from discarded sympathy return to proper place.

“Your evening, swinging in Imperial display of noble silent loyalty to Rome, bound to your harness, oiled and tightly plugged, swinging three feet above party flood, for party guests, may even pull private desires to stiff pride, as display of best service for favored guests. The fragrant slick oleum inlinendum within you, gifted by good friend King Phraates of Parthia, infuses the most powerful narcotics within reach of Rome. Desires rush to view, each thrust is suddenly by loving hand of Domina Antonia and time becomes dearest friend.”

“I’ve seen countless young Praetorians, heavily-veined in stiff display.” Sejanus drew breath.

“You are never allowed release, while entertaining, so that you remain stiff, for best grip by favored guest, until grip is no longer needed to hold you close. When guest withdraws, one hand will be be freed from your harness. Take your pleasures in that moment. They are well-earned.”

Sejanus draws deeper breath.

“But if your leash falls to the cold palm of Domina Atossa, your fate is sealed. She returns with practiced complaint of disappointment, no matter that you repositioned flawlessly throughout the night. Her complaint has one purpose, young Praetorian. That he remit you to her grotto for domestication.”

Sejanus pauses until memories of sudden terror recede to proper place.

“If Amazon guards arrive to shoulder-pole you to the grotto, gifted to her from the Emperor, and you find yourself swinging to the rhythm of cadence, abandon hope. Dawn will matter not, young Praetorian.”

He wonders if Gaius might ever sport wider eyes. He knows such discovery awaits. Gaius shakes uncontrollably in fear. Fear still exceeds concealed rage. Concealed rage can be turned to resolve to shatter Villa Jovis to the ground and restore Rome to dignity.

***0021

ABANCAY, PERU IS a ten-hour journey by land cruiser from Cuzco, the former capital of the Incas. A frontier town high in the Andes Mountains, soldiers once guarded its gates from the Sendero Luminoso, the Shining Path.

Within Abancay, the Society’s seminary instantly separates itself from the town’s grime and muddy streets with high, imposing walls. Within the walls, two fountains splash and dance in the sun amid elegant flowerbeds. Goldfish swim lazily in their basins.

Bishop Jesus Gómez had knelt in prayer before the altar in one of the garden’s two chapels. Beyond the altar was a painting of the holy family, ornately framed with gold. The footsteps of one of his charges entering the chapel broke his concentration. He ended his prayers and rose, turning. “What is it, Brother?”

“This was delivered by courier moments ago.”

Bishop Gómez accepted the manila envelope and walked into the gardens. The young charge followed several paces behind. Gómez opened the envelope to find a communiqué faxed from Cardinal Klodzinski in Rome to the Lima office. Gómez must locate Father Manuel de las Casas immediately. The instructions were unyielding. He turned to his young charge, “Has the courier left yet?”

“No.”

“Instruct him to wait for me, I must return to Lima.” The sun had begun to set.

***0022

“GOOD MORNING, JOHN,” Socrates broke the dark silence four hundred feet within the mountain.

John stirred in the darkness, rolling onto his back. “Good morning, Socrates.”

“Jacob Brigham is on the line, he asked that I wake you.” Only Jacob and Michelle had instant access to Mullen.

Jacob Brigham had been John’s closest friend and business associate for forty years. While Mullen had proved unsurpassed in growing wealth, Brigham was without equal in safeguarding it. When John’s wife, Sarah, had been killed thirty years earlier, Jacob was John’s comfort through many difficult years. John’s trust in Jacob was absolute. Jacob was second in command of the vast Mullen empire.

“Patch him in.” John’s eyes remained closed.

“John?”

“Jacob, good morning. Where are you?”

“Seattle.”

“What’s up?”

“Brian O’Riley called me during the night. Father Bernadine had called him earlier. Cardinal Rajunt has discovered the crucifixion fragment is missing and has ordered him confined to the Vatican, he is under virtual house arrest. Bernadine is convinced Rajunt has made the connection to Father De las Casas.” Brigham waited for a response. When there was none, he continued, “O’Riley indicated a fax was transmitted between the Vatican and a hot number in Lima, Peru two hours after Father Bernadine’s call.”

John opened his eyes, staring deep into the quiet darkness for several seconds. “Did you contact Lima and Iquitos?”

“Yes, immediately. I related O’Riley’s communiqué.”

“Did you make any recommendations?”

“Not at this point.”

“Did they?”

“No. Ray Stauffen will remain in Iquitos to see if inquiries are made about Father De las Casas there. Janice McClain said Bishop Gómez is in Abancay. She will let us know if he returns to Lima.”

“Have you contacted Brian in Rome?”

“Yes, moments ago. His people in the Vatican will try to learn more about Father Bernadine’s situation. Anything else, John?”

“No, just keep me abreast.”

“Done.” Jacob Brigham hung up the phone.

“What time is it, Socrates?” John asked.

“Nine-fifty.”

Minutes of silence passed as John grouped his thoughts for the day. “How are our guests?”

“Fine. Would you like to speak with them?” Socrates asked.

“No. Let ’em be.” John’s legs ached. He rubbed his thighs. “Is it a nice day for our guests?”

“Yes, pleasant.”

John swung his feet to the floor and the lighting around his bed brightened. He showered, dressed, and headed outside to join the others. As he walked from the mountain entrance, he spotted Carlota and Manuel twenty yards beyond. He crossed the gravel driveway to join them. Carlota was clutching binoculars. “I see it!” she exclaimed and handed the glasses to Manuel. “There,” she pointed to a dark spot in the blue sky, circling above the valley river. When she saw John, her eyes brightened more. “It’s an eagle,” she explained to Manuel.

“Can you see the Canada geese?” John pointed to a narrow peninsula formed by an abrupt bend in the river below. “They cluster on that sandy bank along the middle bend in the river.” He pointed.

“I don’t see them,” Carlota shook her head.

“I do,” Manuel responded. He handed the binoculars back to Carlota and pointed toward the river.

“Where’s Father De Montesinos and Michelle?” John looked around.

“They went for a run down the mountain about two hours ago,” Manuel answered.

“Can you spot ’em, Carlota?” John asked.

She trained her binoculars on the roads below for a minute. “I think … I think I can,” she paused and pointed, “I do. There they are, coming back.”

After a few moments, John spotted them a half mile away. One followed the other by hundreds of yards. John knew a steep climb lay ahead of them so he settled atop the nearest small boulder.

The three visited until Michelle crested the slope and waved. When she reached John, she took a deep breath and bounced to a stop. Sweat drenched her, as she bounced to a stop with flushed red cheeks and long ponytail.

“Good morning, John,” she said, catching her breath.

“Good run?” Carlota asked.

Michelle smiled and nodded vigorously. They waited quietly for Father De Montesinos. Antonio eventually crested the slope. Eyes wide, face pale and gasping for air. Baggy gray jogging togs were soaked in sweat.

“Are you all right, Father?” John stared with pity.

Hunched over at the waist, wanting to vomit, elbows locked, and hands gripping his shaking knees, Antonio nodded breathlessly, staring at the ground like a dead man.

“Michelle?” John’s tone reproached her before turning to Antonio. “The air is a bit thin here, Father,” he told Antonio, who caught his disapproving look to Michelle.

Antonio straightened instantly. He took several deep breaths and swallowed hard.

“Please, don’t blame Michelle, John. I asked if I could run with her and insisted she go at her regular pace. She asked if I wanted her to run slow so that I could keep up. You see how that went.” Antonio locked his elbows to his knees and continued struggling to breathe.

Father Antonio straightened. “I tried to keep up. The air here is thinner than Amazon air.” He wanted to collapse to the ground.

His smile glued to Michelle. “Thanks for letting me run with you.”

“We better get you into dry clothes,” Michelle responded. “Come with me.”

Carlota turned to John as they all approached the expanse of black glass at the entrance, “Could we go out today?”

“Of course,” John answered.

“How about lunch in town?” Michelle suggested. John nodded.

As Carlota and Manuel smiled, Michelle tugged at Antonio’s sweatshirt sleeve, “Let’s clean up.”

Antonio followed her as the others stood talking.

An hour later, the Range Rover made its way back down the mountain.

As they pulled north onto the highway leading to Saratoga, Socrates interrupted their conversation.

“John, Jacob Brigham is on the line.”

“Patch him in,” John said and Socrates engaged the scrambler. “John?”

“I’m here, Jacob.”

“I just got a call from Janice McClain. Bishop Gómez returned to Lima and boarded a flight to Iquitos. He’s in the air now. Obviously, the Society is looking for Father De las Casas. I called Stauffen and let him know.”

“Thank you.” The line cleared.

Manuel looked at John.

“Cardinal Rajunt has discovered the crucifixion fragment is missing and has confined Father Bernadine to the Vatican. Rajunt seems to have gleaned some connection between you and Father Bernadine,” John explained. “His heretic hunters are now searching for Carlotta, whether they know it or not.

Carlota’s face tightened and her hands moved protectively over her stomach. Soft warm hands pressed lightly against the kicking in her womb. “Peace my child,” she thought to herself. The kicking subsided.

“What do we do?” Manuel asked, adjusting thick glasses to the bridge of his nose.

“Carlota, do you still want to spend some time in the Wind River Mountains before you return to Lima?” John looked back to her.

“Yes,” she said firmly. “It is important that I have some time with the Fathers, so that we might be friends before returning to Peru.”

“Best leave tomorrow.”

***0023

“ATOSSA IS HIGH-BORN and a commanding Amazon domina with special taste for finding and clipping those such as you, young Praetorian, virile and far too proud of it. Hanging by wide-spread chained ankles, shaved to silk, blind-folded, gagged for silence, well-oiled, well-plugged and trembling with unmanly fear, fragrantly awaiting fall of offending pride to floor, instantly swallowed by giant black war hounds, as grotto party guests crowd to watch, unseen in the dark. But Tiberius, may he live forever, sees in the dark.”

Sejanus pauses, “The distinctive Imperial display of silent loyalty, ’Ausculta susurris et observa signa,’ is branded in Etruscan script, large and cursiva, hilltop and prominent. Left check is deeply branded with “Listen to whispers.” Right cheek is deeply branded with “Heed the signs. Tiberius’ warning to trespassers. Both cheeks, in clenched repose, whisper but one warning to the world, ‘listen to whispers and heed the signs.’”

Sejanus presses hard to find fast where fear yields to duty, duty to silent loyalty and silent loyalty to generational courage. He gazed down, thinking unheard, “Show me, young husband of Domina Antonia, where to set fulcrum.” He continues, as if to a child.

“Unlikely, until the next moon if you seem eager to please him, but possible. I’ve seen it. Resolve to cause, silent loyalty to Rome.”

“When you observe well and perform for sweet compliments, reward is instant.” Sejanus stroked soft and gently yielding brown curls, Tiberius’ favored touch and color. He notices that Gaius’ tightening fist calmed his shaking.

“Even now Domina Antonia awaits private embrace from young husband Gaius, on grand news that you hurry to her. A saddled war stallion awaits at your ready to speed you to her warm embrace at your new estate on the coast. You may return at rooster’s crow for day’s duty in harness.”

“Would you like to fall into her warm embrace, young husband?”

Gaius nods with newly-wed spirit.

Sajanus, veteran survivor of countless palace intrigues, survives with insights drawn from shadows. “Open your eyes, Gaius. This is important to know for special invited guests just arriving from Rome. If you are returned with complaint, Tiberius will gently place your leash into their hand with kind plea for preferred display of Imperial loyalty, from this young Praetorian. Only when your leash passes from his hand, may you step beyond his grasp.”

Sejanus studies the trembling young Praetorian kneeling nude at his feet. Proud and eager to serve mighty Rome and now terrified by the price of imperial service, trying hard to be brave. Such wild-eyes are common now at the Villa Jovis. But Gaius is simply the newest personal Praetorian of Tiberius. Most newly wed, as Gaius. None still live, except eight secretly.

“Kill them all.” Tiberius had commanded Atossa by whisper. Permanent silent loyalty. No witnesses. If Gaius can somehow survive, as secretly did the eight Praetorians who escorted him from his warship and into Villa Jovis, took measure and they will ask him to join them. But he must survive the narcotic madness of Tiberius. The madder Gaius is, the more likely his survival. Sejanus knows Gaius is raging and plotting. Sejanus needs only reshape such rage. Sejanus pushes hard for first advantage.

“Pray goddess Justitia gives nod to stay hand from the icy fingers of Domina Atossa. He greets her with great pomp as she enters the grand receiving room, to the beat of war drums. Supreme Bellatrix to King Artaxias of Armenia. Her preference for exotic pleasure gives the Emperor sweet joy upon her arrival. She is the disgust of Rome, which he envies. She is well-connected, a great beauty of startling proportion and possesses inexhaustible gold wealth. She hunts relentlessly, in all corners of the empire, for those such as you, young Praetorian, manly and prideful of it. Watching such prides yield to panic accelerates her breath to match that of the man in her icy grip.” Sejanus paused to let Gaius blink his wide brown eyes. Such look has grown common at Villa Jovis.

“He will be keen to measure her reaction to you, gleaming in the torchlight of the giant Amazon guards at her side, oiled, plugged, in proskynesis.”

He continues. “Atossa follows into the freshest of newly conquered territories, her buyers are front row to every slave market auction in newly conquered territories. Muscled young warriors, bound naked but still intactus, awaiting highest bids.”

“The slavers are well-rewarded, in pure gold, to present only the finest. And they bring her only the very finest young warriors, captured the day before in battles with the Venedi tribe, defeated Polabian Slavs and the Rus.’”

Sejanus closes his eyes for a moment and continues more quietly.

“Atossa prefers the struggle of trembling young Slavic warriors. Her only brother, young Lord Valarian, High Prince of the Sunlit Throne, died quite badly when captured in battle. They shaved Valaraian to full eunuch, while he drew breath, cut off his head and fed the hogs.” Sejanus paused for breath.

“Sending Valarian, headless and naked, tied upright to his warhorse to return him to camp, has proved a costly totem of Slavic victory.” Sejanus drew deep breath.

“Sunfire, Valarian’s giant warhorse, ran to Atossa, who had raised her from a colt and gifted to excited brother Valarian, to lead the grand army of the Sunlit Throne to war.“

“Sunfire stopped so abruptly in front of her, that Valarian’s headless body catapulted high into the air, knocking Atossa to the ground. She was standing beside her campfire when Sunfire ran to her. Her advisors say it is the only time anyone has heard Atossa sob. She sobbed until sunrise then dried her tears to greet the sun.

“The young Slavic warriors, just captured from battle, are presented to Atossa in dorsum proskynein with legs wide-spread and amplus sphaera in grand display. The larger the stones, the more intense their struggles.”

Sejanus closed his eyes. “You have never witnessed such intense struggles, young Praetorian.”

***0024

JOHN CLEARED HIS throat, “Security.”

A phone in Mullen’s hangar at the Saratoga airport rang.

“Pete Riner,” Riner answered on speakerphone.

Riner had begun a meteoric rise through the ranks of the F.B.I. soon after he graduated from Notre Dame law school. His career with the F.B.I. ended ten years later when John Mullen asked him to head Mullen’s corporate security and offered to quadruple his salary and establish substantial college trust funds for his five children. Before Riner had agreed, he brought his family to Saratoga that summer. After their first visit, they refused to live anywhere else. Saratoga was home.

“Pete, John Mullen here.”

“Yes, Mr. Mullen.”

“Michelle and her guests are en route.”

“Yes, sir. Everything is ready.”

“Keep ’em safe, Pete.”

“Yes, sir.”

“I have asked Dr. Groussman to travel with your team in case Ms. Cabral needs attention. You can pick him up in Saratoga.”

“He’s already here. Michelle called me earlier and gave us their departure time.”

“You’re ready to follow?”

“Yes sir, of course.”

The whine of the Ranger’s powerful engine began invading the hangar. Riner looked out his office window and up to the eastern sky. “They’re in view, sir.”

“Keep me posted, Pete.”

“Yes, sir,” Riner ended the conversation and headed out into the hangar, signaling to others. The hangar doors began sliding apart.

John breathed several deep breaths and returned his attention to the twisted bonsai clinging to the brightly lit stone.

Riner hurried to the Ranger as soon as Michelle cut the engine, bending low as he made his way beneath the blurring blades. He opened Carlota’s door and extended a hand, “Ms. Cabral.”

She took his hand, easing out of her seat. Riner accompanied her away from the twirling blades to the hangar. Antonio and Manuel followed close behind.

When Michelle joined them, a dark blue Mercedes sedan emerged from behind one of the jets. The black tires squeaked against the slick concrete of the hangar floor as the car pulled alongside.

A young woman stepped out, leaving the engine running and the driver’s door open.

“Thank you, Denise,” Riner said.

Denise nodded and headed to the back of the hangar.

“Ms. Cumberland, I hope your journey is pleasant.”

“Thank you, Pete.” Michelle walked to the driver’s door and signaled Carlota to sit up front with her. Riner opened the door for Carlota. Antonio and Manuel climbed in back.

The Mercedes rolled from the hangar and, as the hangar doors closed, passed through through a side gate, heading north on Highway 130 toward Pinedale, nestled along the western slope of the Wind River Mountains.

Moments later, a silver Lincoln Continental left the hangar, following the Mercedes. A red and white Suburban Wagon soon followed the Lincoln.

John rolled back his head, stretching his neck. He inhaled deeply and uncrossed his legs, hanging them over the edge of the deck. The tips of his toes just reached the white gravel floor.

“Socrates.”

“Yes.”

“Jacob Brigham, please.”

Socrates dialed three numbers. All answered within two rings.

Socrates located Brigham and terminated the other conversations.

“Jacob Brigham.”

“Mr. Brigham, this is Socrates, please hold for Mr. Mullen.” Socrates alerted John that Brigham was on line.

“Patch him in.”

“Jacob?” John asked.

“Yes.”

“Where are you?”

“Over the Pacific, between Seattle and Anchorage.”

“Anything from O’Riley?”

“He confirmed that Father Bernadine is confined by the Gendarmerie.”

“The Vatican police?”

“Yes. We’ll have him out tomorrow. If we wait longer, they will discover he’s been making overseas calls from his room.” Jacob warned.

“Who has he been calling?”

“He told O’Riley that he called seven bishops throughout South America.”

“Did he say who?”

“No. O’Riley asked but Bernadine asked if he could explain later.”

“What is he doing now?”

“Not sure. Stauffen called from Iquitos. Local priests have begun preaching that their Savior is soon returning,” Jacob paused. “Are there parts of your plan that I’m not aware of John?”

“Absolutely not, Jacob. Why ask that?”

“We’re picking up reports from six of our South American operations that local priests are telling people that a new Messiah will soon be born.”

“They shouldn’t know, yet.” John answered fast. “Where are your reports from?”

“Iquitos, Ayacucho, and Lima in Peru and Manaus, Brazilia, and São Paulo in Brazil. This will continue to build, John. Some villages are starting to celebrate.” When John made no response, Jacob continued, “We’ve asked Bernadine to discontinue his overseas calls.”

“What did he say?”

“He agreed. What do you think he’s up to, John?”

“I have no idea Jacob but his overseas calls and the prophecies of the South American priests link. Do you agree?”

“Yes.”

“Father Bernadine has a plan hitched to ours.”

“It appears. In any case, O’Riley wants him out of the Vatican before Rajunt catches our scent.”

“Let me know when he’s out. I would like to talk to him. Jacob. Find out what you can about these priests who are telling people about a new Messiah.”

“I’ll call you as soon as I can give you a good picture of what’s happening. But I need to warn you, John. We’ve been picking up reports that the Sendero guerrillas in Peru, which we thought Fujimori had annihilated, are resurging. They’ll target Carlota if the people of Peru begin to believe she may be the new Madonna. They’ll kill her.”

“Tell Ray Stauffen and Janice McClain to be on guard.”

“I have, we discussed it.”

“Can we track the numbers Bernadine called in South America?” John asked.

“Not without Socrates.”

“Socrates.”

“Yes, John.”

“Assist Jacob.”

“Standing by, Mr. Brigham.”

“Keep me posted, Jacob.”

“Will do, John.”

“The line has terminated,” Socrates informed John.

The chamber remained still for several minutes as John gathered his thoughts. “Can you help Jacob?”

“Yes,” Socrates responded, “I have accessed Homeland Security computers beneath Omaha.”

“Will it take long to get Jacob his information?”

“I have identified the calls, their content and am briefing Jacob.”

“Can you be traced?”

“Not in human lifetimes.”

John rose from the deck, his joints and legs ached as he made his way to the tunnel back to his bedroom.

***0025

“AGAIN, YOUNG PRAETORIAN,” the gods continue to favor you, indeed. They have blessed you with a very small co*ck. Be grateful for that tiny worm, Atossa will lose interest upon sight. Size matters to Atossa, a great deal.”

Sejanus inhales deeply and continues to test for the measure of this young Praetorian’s endurance. He knows he will find where to set the fulcrum, where fear yields instantly to silent loyalty.

“I’ve seen her in action, young Praetorian. At grand dinner parties, for sudden joys of well-wined and honored party guests. Atossa is swift to applause. Those clapping the most receive whispered invite to her dark grotto, to watch again, with quickened breath, from the dark. Tiberius, may he live forever, was born in the dark. He sees in the dark, young husband of Domina Antonia. He feeds in darkness.”

Sejanus offers a sympathetic eye to his young Praetorian. “If Tiberius remits you to her, I will see that your gags are generously infused with calming opium resins to obscure notice and delay later grief at such noble sacrifice to the empire.”

“Would you like a narcotic gag, young husband of Domina Antonia?”

“Please never that, great Master. Please never that, Lord Prefect. I beg.” Gaius struggles for breath.

Sejanus pauses in vivid memory. “Her icy fingers roll stones for single purpose. To feel vain struggle, until exhaustion quiets all struggle. A swift tug and new service to Empire awaits.”

Sejanus suddenly recalls the legendary young Germanicus, with the largest stones in the empire, he knew it and took great pride in them. The legend of Rome.

Germanicus was gens symbol of the kinship clans of Roman men who shattered the tyrant King Tarquinius and founded the Roman Republic on his bones. When he walked naked into the baths, his stones bounced mid-thigh. And Germanicus so enjoyed parading them to the envy of lesser men.

***0026

MICHELLE ENTERED JOHN’S suite. “John?” She called out and waited.

The room remained silent.

“Socrates, where is John?”

“In his meditation chamber.”

Michelle walked through the sitting room into John’s bedroom. She hesitated beside his bed, at the stairway tunnel leading up to his meditation chamber. John’s Zen rock garden was the one room in the mountain she had not designed. It was his sanctuary, his place of peace.

“When did he go in?” She asked.

“About an hour ago.”

Michelle headed up the tunnel until she reached the massive hardwood doors. She opened them slowly.

Brilliant blue light floods onto her face, setting her platinum hair aglow.

“John?” She asked quietly, stepping inside. “John?”

Blue light baths the small, circular room with its low-rise ceiling. A pulsing blue laser beam connects a slab of stone on the floor to the zenith of the domed ceiling. The stone sits atop white sand that John rakes into different wave patterns, as if radiating from a rocky shoreline. In the mesmerizing brightness, the circular walls become unseen.

The spotlighted stone looked like a distant island fortress on a quiet sea. A small bonsai clings to the stone.

John sat atop a thick leather cushion at the edge of a small deck. The deck, fashioned from weathered planks, protruded but a few feet into the silent room.

Michelle stood looking down to the back of John’s head. She knew he was aware of her. He remained motionless, facing the stone island. His mane of silky white hair shimmered in the blue light.

“John,” she had to interrupt him.

He turned back, looking up to her.

“We’re ready to leave.”

“I know.” He motioned for her to join him.

She settled beside him. “Are you frightened?” she asked softly.

“Yes. What we have begun will soon be independent of us.”

“It already is,” Michelle said, squeezing his hand and resting her head on his shoulder. For several minutes, they gazed at the solitary stone island.

John turned, “You must go now.” He kissed the top of her head.

She sat up, looking over at him. “What do you think will happen?”

“The child will be born. The rest . . . ,” he inhaled deeply, “. . . will unfold by its nature.”

“Why does she want to return to Lima? The child would be safer here.”

“She is deeply religious, Michelle. She does not seek your sense of safety.”

“But why return to Peru?”

“She and Angelica grew up together on the streets of Lima. The child is her best hope for her people, the poor of South America. He will be born as one of them. That is her wish, which we shall honor.”

Michelle rose to her feet, “We’ll be back soon.” She brushed her fingers over his white hair then left the chamber.

John breathed in slowly then released his breath. “Socrates.”

“Yes, John,” the deep voice resonated through the chamber.

“Alert me when they have left.” John sat motionlessly, staring at the stone and the bonsai.

Unheard from several hundred feet above the chamber, the heliport doors opened as the Jet Ranger’s blades blurred. Michelle looked back to Antonio, Manuel, and Carlota, checking that safety belts were buckled.

She maneuvered the machine off the ground.

“John.”

“Yes, Socrates.”

“Michelle has cleared the compound.”

***0027

SEJANUS PAUSES FROM vivid memory. “Each stone, tied separately and shaved smooth, glistened in the torchlight. The largest stones in the history of Rome.”

Sejanus raises a quick brow. “As her blade licked softest flesh, Germanicus looks her in the eye, as if bored. ‘As you please. I do not fear.’”

“Germanicus went on to father many sons. Most fearless soldier in Roman history. Germanicus feared nothing. Nothing. Within his Roman chest beat the heat of a Spartan.”

“She instantly ordered him pole-shouldered to her new estate, gifted to her atop Palatine Hill by the noble Tiberius, may he live forever. Atossa set Germanicus to breeding, at least twice a day. He fathered many similar Roman slave-sons.”

Sejanus’ eyes drift for several beats of his heart. He shakes his head, to regain intended focus. He hates Atossa as much as he hates Tiberius. Roman manhood is mocked. Praetorian manhood is made laughable.

“Great and noble houses, even from the most distant edges of the Empire, wanting desperately to restock their slaves with sons issued by the legendary Germanicus, offered to pay her kings’ ransom.”

“Atossa would simply smile at their armored coffers of gold coin, gently close heavy lids to coffers brimming with blue sapphires and black pearls, and thank them for their offer.

“I do this in tribute to your ancient and noble house. On a day that may never come, I may ask you for a tribute, in return. Breed Rome’s legend with your young slave virgins, four times a day until his seed grows in their bellies. May your noble house grow in wealth from stud-fee of slave-sons sired by legendary Germanicus. Please permit Atossa to honor your noble houses with this special tribute.” They always nodded.

“But, young husband of beloved Antonia,” Sejanus drew breath, “the day that may never come always comes.”

“So, If your stones yet fall into her hand, young husband Gaius, look her in the eye without fear. The fearless do not excite her. But, if they do fall, to feed her hungry war hounds, you are without deserve of the Imperial salary of a Praetorian, of course. No eunuch could be a Praetorian. Your salary will vanish, young husband of Domina Antonia.“

Sejanus notices Gaius beginning to shake uncontrollably, no matter how hard he squeezes powerful fists. Fear or furry? He presses for advantage. Where does fear yield to fearless silent loyalty in this brave young Praetorian, willing to give all, simply to know Domina Antonia still smiles and laughs. His only loyalty now is to Antonia. Sejanus presses for future advantage.

“But, fear not, Atossa would offer you and Domina Antonia sanctuary within her great harem, Domina Antonia as honored guest and you to bathe and attend her stables of young breeding stallions and massage her athletes for the Roman Games.”

“Would you like that, perhaps, young Gaius? Bathing and massaging muscled and young Roman men? More concealed desires, of new husband from young wife?”

Gaius shakes his head vigorously. “No concealed desire for co*ck, great Dominus.”

The Praetorian Prefect paused again at the sheer waste of such a virile young Praetorian, to be pole-shouldered by Amazons into Atossa’s dark grotto, and domesticated in torchlight, simply so Tiberius learns who crowds to watch from shadowed darkness.

Elite Praetorian guards carved into eunuchs for applause by honored party guests. Sejanus. Rages. Silently. Praetorian elites made into eunuchs. He. Will. Kill. Tiberius. He. Will. Kill. Atossa.

Powerless against Tiberius, Sejanus has stared into the pleading eyes of the personal Praetorians who preceded young Gaius, upon learning that their fate at Villa Jovis is, not to protect Tiberius with their life, but to entertain as party favor, presented quietly by Tiberius to his horrific party guests, just arriving from Rome.

Praetorian soldiers, the elite of the elite Roman soldiers, suddenly wide-eyed, confused and terrified, pleading to Sejanus to save them – their Praetorian Prefect.

Sejanus still wakes screaming and dripping with sweat, every night. The Praetorian Guard has lost sixty three elite warriors over the last fifteen years. A fresh personal Praetorian for each new moon. Killed to ensure permanent silent loyalty, minus the eight who survive, unknown to Tiberius.

“Kill them all after I’m done with them, and their young wives. Use the catapults! I love the catapults! Leave no witnesses for the foul-breathed and bald, Quintus Julius Aurelius, to question. I ordered you to have him killed and he still lives, Sejanus!! Another miserable failure from my pretend Prefect.”

“Emperor, he is Princeps Senatus, surrounded at all times by senate guards, who quickly killed every assassin sent to kill him. He hates you. His only son, Aurelius Caelius Maximus, your third personal Praetorian, vanished after a new moon. Quintus Aurelius will not stop until he can prove what he suspects happened to Aurelius. Quintus is old, bitter and vengeful.” Sejanus locked eyes with Tiberius.

“Kill him! Kill him now! Or you will ride catapult, with Livia.”

Sejanus arm-clasps his chest, locking eyes with Tiberiius while thinking, “Someday, a personal Praetorian may yet whisper into the hairy ear of Quintus Julius Aurelius. Rome’s Praetorian Guard, the elite of the elite of the Empire, are being decimated, simply to entertain drunk party guests, until no longer fresh, and then vanish from earth. Only one whisper need reach the ear of Princeps Senatus.” He wonders if Gaius can survive, long enough, to whisper into the ear of Quintus Julius Aurelius, before being replaced by next moon.

Sejanus has already ordered all fungus mushrooms and opium resins withheld from Gaius’ morning refilling of the fragrant oleum inlindeum. If Gaius is to survive, he must be clear-eyed.

Sejanus senses something. He does not know what he senses.

A true legionnaire, so eager to serve Rome, even at the cost of life. Now just trying not to piss himself as he quivers in unmanly fear, wide-eyed and unblinking. But his young heart keeps tempo to the beat of Spartan heart. Sejanus watches Gaius breath to a tempo set by the unmistakable rhythm of a Spartan heart, ready for battle. It is a rare heart, that sets true fate.

***0028

THE NEXT MORNING Rajunt returned to the Vatican Gardens to meet Klodzinski again and waited near the great rose beds. It was unusual for Klodzinski to be late.

Movement caught Rajunt’s eye. He watched Klodzinski hurry to him, along the path.

“Pardon my tardiness, but I received two calls from South America after I called you.”

“Pay it no mind, my friend,” Rajunt eyed him with disapproval. “Bishop Gómez called me. He has been unable to find De las Casas.” “I know. He also called me.”

“What did you tell him?”

“To keep looking,” Rajunt snapped.

A distant siren broke the peace of the garden.

“Has Bishop Cardoso called you?” Klodzinski asked.

“No. Why?”

“He and Bishop Sánchez called me soon after I had called you to meet

me here.”

“Sánchez, from São Paulo?”

“Yes. They said Archbishop De Gonzales’ priests have begun preaching the Messiah will soon return. Bishop Sánchez said he and Cardoso have begun alerting the Society throughout South America to stop this heresy.”

The siren’s distant scream grew louder. Rajunt and Klodzinski looked toward its direction.

“Just an ambulance,” Klodzinski noted by the undulating wail.

Rajunt redirected their conversation. His eyes had become glass and did not waver as he stared at Klodzinski. “You must tell me exactly what they said.”

“Bishop Cardoso . . . .”

“Is he still in Lima?” Rajunt interrupted sharply.

“Yes. Bishop Cardoso attended mass at the Lady of Our Light in Lima yesterday and said the priest was promising people that the Messiah was soon at hand. He removed the priest from his duties but said many other priests are repeating it all across Peru. It spreads like wildfire, he said.” Klodzinski drew his brows together. “The people trust De Gonzales/ priests.”

“What did Sánchez say?” Rajunt felt his chest tighten.

The crying ambulance swerved toward St. Peter’s Square and slowed as it entered an ocean of tourists milling about with cameras trained on the Basilica. The siren’s sharp wail parted the sea of people. “Keep going,” O’Riley commanded from the back of the van.

Across the Vatican, Klodzinski shrugged in holy confusion. “The same thing is happening in Brazil. The slums of São Paulo and Rio de Janeiro ─ that’s all the people will talk about ─ the Messiah is returning as one of them.”

The ambulance picked its way through the crowd and again gathered speed, heading down a side street to the Vatican apartments for resident foreigners.

“They are almost here, Father. I can hear the siren.” Fear gripped the face of the young Gendarme who had denied Father Bernadine re-entry to his office. He had found Bernadine sprawled on the floor of his meager apartment, almost unconscious and clutching a phone after calling the ambulance.

“Bless you, my child.” Bernadine looked up from his bed, breathing hard. He grasped the young man’s powerful hand.

“I’m going to carry you down the stairs, Father.” The young man reassured him. “The stairwell is too narrow for a stretcher.”

“Bless you.” Bernadine looked up at the young man and smiled back.

Across the Basilica in the Vatican Gardens, Rajunt snapped a rose head from its stem. “I can already tell you, this is Bernadine’s doing,” he hissed.

“It makes no sense,” Klodzinski retorted and noted the standing veins at Rajunts temples.

“It makes perfect sense. We simply don’t yet know how.” Rajunt’s thin cold lips pinched tightly.

At that instant, the siren stopped wailing and Rajunt glanced back toward the Basilica.

“They’re here, Father!” The young Gendarme broke Bernadine’s weak grip on his hand, hurried to the tiny window and looked down at the small courtyard. The back of the ambulance doors swung open and scrambling medics pulled out a stretcher. The medics were locking its metal legs into place when the young man left the window, set his jaw with determination, and scooped Bernadine from the bed with powerful arms.

Bernadine laid his head onto the young man’s chest. “Am I too much for you, my son?” He looked up with hound dog eyes.

“Not at all,” the Gendarme answered and rushed down the hallway with the frail old man tucked against his chest. He kicked open the stairwell door and bounded down the stairs two at a time.

Across the Vatican, Klodzinski followed Rajunt from the rose garden. Rajunt walked slowly, studying the ground, his hands clasped behind his back. Klodzinski waited for Rajunt to speak. When they reached the trees, Rajunt stopped and looked up, pausing.

“I shall go to Peru to visit Bishop Cardoso,” Rajunt announced.

“You must be very careful, my friend. The Sendero Luminoso may be resurging in Lima.”

“God’s will be done,” Rajunt, ignorant of the Sendero, dismissed Klodzinski’s fears out of hand.

“He’s having a heart attack!” The young Gendarme exclaimed to a white frocked doctor and gently laid Bernadine onto the stretcher.

“We’ll take care of him from here, son,” O’Riley responded and signaled the other medics to get Bernadine into the ambulance.

O’Riley could see the young Gendarme was determined to accompany Bernadine.

“What medications is he on?” O’Riley demanded.

“I don’t know,” the Gendarme replied in frustration.

“It is critical we know before we reach the hospital. Find out and call this number.” O’Riley handed him a card from Rome’s largest hospital. As they shoved Bernadine into the ambulance, O’Riley scowled at the young man.

“Hurry!” he snapped.

As O’Reily climbed into the back of the ambulance, he glanced back. The young man was running through a crowd of nuns rushing out of the foreign visitor’s residence in curiosity. One nun was taking pictures.

O’Riley slammed the ambulance doors shut behind him. “Go.”

“Do you want me to go with you?” Klodzinski asked Rajunt.

“No. I want you to stay here and keep an eye on Bernadine. He’s part of this, I can tell,” Rajunt’s long tongue flicked the air.

From the rear of the van, O’Riley watched the crowd of nuns and excited on-lookers shrink smaller and smaller as the ambulance rocketed away. He looked down at the old man and smiled. “Father Bernadine, you can sit up. We’re clear.”

***0029

MICHELLE STRETCHED SLOWLY, opening green eyes to a dawn breaking behind the Wind River Mountains. Lake breezes followed the morning sun through open patio doors to her bedroom. Perched on a pine branch overhanging the patio deck, a yellow-winged black bird chirped.

Michelle slipped into a flannel robe and wandered onto the wooden deck, which ran the full rear of the house. She stood at the deck’s edge, sixty feet above the rocky shore, and looked out across the lake. The breeze caressed her face and lifted platinum strands off her shoulders.

Fed from glacial melt high in the Wind River Mountains, Fremont Lake spread for a mile to the opposite shore. The sound of a slowly churning outboard carried across acres of mirrored water.

Michelle yawned and headed for the kitchen. A mug of coffee steamed from her hand when she returned. She pulled a chair to the deck’s edge and eased back to watch the lake come alive.

An hour later, other bedroom doors opened to the patio. Manuel emerged and waved, buttoning the top of his shirt. He swung the doors open and hurried to Michelle.

“Good morning.” He sat beside her.

“Good morning. Did you sleep well?” She smiled.

“Yes.”

“I’m sorry you and Father Antonio have to bunk together. But John and I built it for our own retreat.”

“Palatial by my standards.”

“Is Father Antonio still sleeping?” she asked.

“Dead to the world. Is Carlota awake?”

“You and I are the first to wake. But I thought I heard her stirring earlier. Would you like coffee?”

“Please.” Manuel rose from his chair. “Let me get it. In the kitchen?”

“Yes … a full pot.” Michelle lifted her mug and Manuel disappeared into the house.

Michelle stood and headed for the patio doors to Carlota’s bedroom. She walked past the open patio doors of Manuel and Antonio’s room, glancing in. Antonio lay sleeping, sprawled half naked across the nearest bed.

***0030

“WHEN GIFTED AS party-favor, you are allowed beyond his reach but must step as your new master steps. When you are leashed, every silent tug is an imperial command. Be attentive to fingered signals. Swift obedience naturally commends to your status intactus.”

“Dominus? Intactus?” Gaius tried to still his trembling fingers.

“More problems, my wild-eyed young Praetorian?”

“No Dominus.” Gaius arm-clasps. Dozens of veins on his powerful forearm roar into view.

“Nothing is forever. We each dance atop the flames of fate. You are high-born, I assume?”

“Low-born, Dominus. Cast-out last-born to a one-leg, one-arm, one-tooth and bald circus-whor*.”

“I learned to count by making change fast when I sold the tickets for her circus rides. I learned to play lyre by plucking any tune on her circus lyre, to help me sing pantheons to her riders, to encourage them to finish and tip her for my song.”

“If I plucked and sang well enough for tip money, I was fed a half-bowl of bean broth that night. If not, I slept with hunger, with empty bowl as pillow. When I was ten years old, my voice cracked with manhood’s arrival, all tips stopped. She cast me to the curb with her arm, slammed the door with her leg and loudly locked the door behind me. I never saw her again.”

“No one in the Empire is lower born, Dominus.”

“You may yet prevail. Take hope.”

Sejanus continued with practiced word. “As courtesy to Praetorian modesty, I have arranged for you to be flushed and recoated in your private cubiculum, of my design, 200 paces south of the imperial bed.

“Only when Tiberius sleeps, may you step beyond his reach. While he sleeps, you will be readied to greet his imperial awakening.”

Sejanus began caressing the top of Gaius’ bowed head. The young Praetorian’s nude submission began stiffening him. He could feel himself growing and grabbed a handful of soft curly hair and held it as he grew.

“As you are being flushed, cleansed, oiled and plugged, while he sleeps, your head will remain bowed with your eyes on the floor. You are forbidden to gaze upon the six beautiful young virgins ordered by the Emperor to witness and attest to your purification. Keep your eyes to the floor at all times. Never allow them to inform the Emperor that you have gazed upon them with your eyes. They are smart, young and stunningly beautiful, drawn to Villa Jovis from high noble houses. Catching your eye for reward is their only purpose. Their time at Villa Jovis is limited and they know that.

Sejanus noticed eyes widen as fists of a powerful arm end tremble. Sejanus closed for advantage.

***0031

HIS ENORMOUS FRAME overran the length of his bed. He lay on his back, his right arm covered his face. He had kicked away most of his cover. His upper torso was bare but a single white sheet had twisted about his hips. A long leg hung limply over the edge of the bed.

Michelle breathed deeply and continued toward Carlota’s room. When she reached the door, she knocked. “Carlota?”

Carlota turned off the water. “One moment, Michelle,” she replied loudly, pulling back on her robe. She left the bathroom and opened the patio doors.

“I thought I heard you moving about earlier and wondered if you might want to join Father Manl and me for coffee.”

“Very much. I need to shower first. I’ll be out soon.”

“Take your time.”

Manuel had not returned as Michelle made her way back. She paused at Antonio’s room. She surveyed every inch of him as he slept. Her green eyes followed the thin line of silky black hair that funneled from his chest and trailed between five pairs of knotted abs and then across a vast and smooth, muscled V pointing beneath the crumbled white sheet tangled around his hips. Antonio sighed to himself and rolled onto his stomach, losing all cover.

Michelle closed her eyes, sighed and returned to the deck chairs.

Manuel emerged from the house. “I helped myself to breakfast,” With a cup of coffee in one hand, he held up a dark brown cinnamon roll in the other. “I hope that was all right.”

Michelle smiled, “Father Manuel, you make yourself at home.”

Manuel walked to the open patio doors and called for Antonio to wake. He closed the doors and returned to sit beside her.

Fifteen minutes later, Carlota joined them and soon all four sat near the edge of the deck, watching the morning lake and talking.

Antonio was barefooted and wrapped in a heavy cotton robe. His light blue eyes sparkled in the morning sun, as he sat beside her.

“I appreciate that you have come to help me,” Carlota said to Antonio and Manuel.

“What would you like to do today, Carlota?” Michelle asked.

“Do you mind if I just rest this morning?

“No.” Antonio and Manuel volunteered sympathetically.

“Would you like Dr. Groussman to come up to the house?” Michelle asked.

“No, no.” Carlota said softly. “I’m only a little tired. You three go enjoy yourself, please,” she insisted gently. “By the time you’re back, I’ll be rested.”

The priests looked to Michelle.

“We could water ski,” she suggested.

“We’ve never skied,” Antonio warned.

“Wanna try? It may be an acquired taste.” She laughed.

Carlota smiled at the humor dancing in Michelle’s eyes.

“Will it be hard?” Antonio asked.

“If you can get up …” one brow arching, “… I can keep you up.”

“Manuel, do you want to try?” Carlotta jumped into their conversation.

He shook his head back to her. “I remain with you.”

***0032

“THEY DANCE SEDUCTIVELY, bang their cymbals and flute for your attention, young Praetorian, with single purpose. To see you erect, proof that you had gazed upon them. They would scream for the guards, who will awaken Tiberius of your disloyalty to him. They would be rewarded instantly and replaced with new virgins. Your disloyal display would fall to floor still stiff. Removed from sight instantly. You would be dragged, by one leg, to your catapult. Domina Antonia would be commanded to help the guards drag you. You’d quickly cart-wheel into a cloudless blue sky, becoming smaller and smaller until you simply vanish. Domina Antonio would swiftly follow. Tiberius can be unforgiving and less than silent loyalty is mutiny to mighty Tiberius. Tiberius deals with mutiny instantly, on the spot. That is how he has survived dozens of attempts to kill him, may he live forever. Tiberius hears whispers in the dark and heeds signs in the light.”

“As they play loudly, if the Emperor’s attention has turned to Rome, slowly raise your head, look only at me and mouth “Rome,” then instantly return your gaze to the floor. If his attention remains on Villa Jovis, keep your head bowed and your eyes to the floor. I will come to you each day for your report.”

“The gods are, again, with you, young Praetorian. The slick oleum inlinendum, just recently gifted to him by King Phraates of Parthia, will be infusing you with the most powerful opium resins, from the rich fields of Anatolia. It is also extraordinarily slick, long lasting and gives up the sweet fragrance of almond. King Phraates knows that to be Tiberius’ favored fragrance. They are old friends and exchange party gifts continually.”

“Tiberius once had 100 of Rome’s most bothersome freeborn young thugs, sailed to Syria, hog-tied and presented in silver cages by an emissary as a party favor, presented with great pomp. The good King clapped wildly in merriment, according to the emissary.”

“The emissary then conveyed request of Tiberius for these bothersome young thugs from Rome, pissing themselves and trembling with unmanly fear, as they gently swung to-and-fro in silver wheeled-cages. Wide-spread ankles, blind-folded, well-gagged, tightly-plugged, shaved-to-silk but yet displaying intactus.”

Sejanus paused to smile.

“Tiberius requested that good friend Phraates domesticate each in turn, with commanded applause from those still intactus.”

“The good King sent word that all of his warhounds slept with smiles and bloated bellies that night. He and good King Phrates exchange small, inconsequential gifts, continually. Nothing extravagant. Simple things that bring joy to life.”

“Each morning, as mighty Tiberius sleeps, may he live forever, you will be hanged by your ankles during your recoating of inlinendum and tightly plugged, to waste nothing, until the Emperor slides it free. Remarkably, in time, you may come to enjoy it. Some do.” Sejanus examined the back of his fingernails, staring at Gaius.

“What is commonly soft displays morning’s show of eager appetite. Stiffly veined. No desire hides forever, Gaius. Your tiny little worm is stiffening, as we speak. Secret desire for Domina Antonia to witness noble display of silent loyalty by young husband, Gaius?”

“Please no, Dominus. Please no.” Gaius’ fingers shake in fear. Sejanus notices, as well that the center of young Gaius’ eyes were black with terror. Success comes in many colors and Sejanus always pursues first advantage.

“Worry not, young Gaius, you will be in welcomed hands. Take peaceful sleep tonight. After the Vestal Virgins end futile challenge to stiffen you one last time, the room will return only to sounds you cannot control while being purified for day’s duty. Domina Antonia will be brought into the room to observe noble display of silent loyalty.”

“She will be trained how to prepare young husband for the Emperor’s first morning festivities, after he finishes with a quick breakfast, with mandrake and henbane tea, then screams “WHERE IS MY PRAETORIAN!”

***0033

BISHOP GÓMEZ STEPPED over fresh burro dung as he scurried the footpath that led into the jungle from the little church outside Iquitos.

The young native guide followed the trail ahead like funneling water. Gómez tried to keep up but kept stumbling. Sweat poured down his face, burning his eyes. The equatorial heat thickened the humid air. Bishop Gómez struggled for breath.

Overhead, the canopy of trees blotted out chunks of sunlight. Sharp shadows striped the footpath. Shrill calls from exotic birds occasionally joined the constant drone of insects.

“Hold up!” The young guide disappeared into the dark. Gómez stopped, to catch his breath. He knew he was in trouble. “Heathen,” Gómez pressed on, pushing leafy green branches away from his face.

He rounded a bend in the path and finally came face to face with several Sendero Luminoso, waiting for him. Machetes hung from their waists.

“A priest,” the leader hissed in Spanish when she spotted his crucifix, ripping it away and throwing it onto the jungle soil. Nostrils flared. Big brown eyes suddenly flamed with a hatred memory.

Her lips twisted into a cruel smile. Her tattered rain cape, gathered at her neck by a metal clasp, draped her forearm that held the AK-47. She motioned him to the ground, next to his young Indian guide. He stared in terror, a moment too long.

Barking orders in Spanish, she pulled her machete from the sheath on her belt. Two men grabbed his arms and kicked the back of his knees, knocking him to the ground. They held him kneeling before her. She lowered the razored edge of the machete to the tuft of skin between his right ear and his skull.

“Blood sucking leech,” she snarled and pulled the blade along his ear. Gómez screamed. He struggled to grab the side of his head but the two wiry men held his arms in place.

As Gómez cried out, she shoved an AK-47 muzzle between his teeth. He froze and rolled his eyes upward, his screams silenced. She stared down at him. “Suck on this, priest,” she ordered.

Not a muscle moved or twitched as blood poured down his neck. He stared in wide-eyed horror as she rattled the barrel against his teeth.

“Suck or die, you decide.” Dark, unblinking eyes glowed down to him.

Trembling, Gómez slowly complied, wrapping his lips around the cold barrel. His quaking clattered his teeth against it. ”More conviction!” She slid the barrel deeper into his mouth. Gómez’ eyes bulged as it slid deeper. He gagged when the barrel pushed against the back of his throat.

“You’re well practiced, I see,” she laughed. Her forearms tensed. Those holding Gómez pivoted quickly to the side.

“María!” Anita, the youngest of the Sendero, called out.

María’s blazing eyes snapped from Gómez to Anita. “Qué?”

“A priest may prove useful.”

María looked down to Gómez, who was wetting himself. She withdrew the barrel from his quivering lips, slowly. A thin strand of saliva followed the glistening muzzle pulling away. “You’re lucky, priest, so far.” She turned back toward the guide.

He cried out in fear as Sendero descended on him. They tore off his shirt and trousers in quick moves. Within moments, he lay naked on his back, staked spread eagled to the ground, legs wide-spread for her pleasures.

María walked up and kicked his head with the muddy tip of her boot. “You, however, are not lucky.”

He rolled his head toward her, his eyes frozen in fear. Gómez whimpered in the background.

She glared at his crucifix on his chest, too. “Collaborator!” She bent down, ripped it off and spit down onto his face, her dark eyes filling with new rage.

He responded sharply in his own language.

María kneeled beside his head. “Speak Spanish, collaborator,” she ordered in Spanish.

The young man looked up defiantly at her. With powerful lungs, he hocked a saliva glob into her face and repeated his phrase in the language of his tribe.

“Brave little fool.” María lowered the razor-edged machete to his throat.

He mumbled a prayer in Spanish.

“Ah, Spanish at last,” she noted. “Make the priest watch!”

One of the men holding Gómez quickly kneeled beside him, forcing him into a headlock so he faced María.

Gómez stared in horror as María pressed downward as the young man screamed. Animals above in the canopy shrieked with excitement, piercing the jungle in shrill alarm. She slowly slid the machete back and forth until his screams died.

María’s lip curled back to show a glint of teeth when she had triumphed. She stood and raised the severed trophy high above her head, smiling to the others as they cheered.

“Mother of God!” Gómez whispered to himself.

María walked over to Gómez, tossed the head at him. Dead eyes stared at him. She yanked him to his feet. “Carry this or join him, priest!”

“I will not.” Gómez refused.

María laughed, tossing the head into the underbrush. The Sendero guerrillas herded Gómez into the green foliage of wet undergrowth and they disappeared.

***0034

JOHN STOOD BESIDE the wall of glass that framed the valley below. From the mountain fortress, he stared down to the tiny town of Saratoga with hands clasped behind his back.

“Jacob Brigham is calling,” Socrates interrupted the silence.

“Patch him in.”

“John, Brian O’Riley got Bernadine out a few hours ago. Bernadine faked a heart attack and they got him out by ambulance.”

“Where is he?”

“They just landed in Amsterdam about twenty minutes ago to refuel.” “Jacob, hold on a minute. Socrates, Father Bernadine please.”

Within seconds, a new voice entered the room. “Mr. Mullen?” The voice sounded distant until Socrates boosted the signal.

“Brian?” John asked.

“Mr. Mullen? Brian O’Riley here.”

John walked back to his desk. “Is Father Bernadine there?”

Several seconds passed. “Hallo?” The voice was old and sounded hollow on the speakerphone.

“Father Bernadine?” John sat at his desk.

“Yes.”

“This is John Mullen.”

“Mr. Mullen. We finally meet! Thank God!” Bernadine declared with a Leprechaun’s accent.

“We do. How are you, Father?”

“I’m fine, quite fine. Better now.”

“Ms. Cabral hopes to meet you before she returns to Lima,” John said. Jacob Brigham listened quietly in Anchorage.

“I look forward to meeting her.”

“Fathers Antonio and Manuel are here, too. I know they will want to see you,” John added.

“You are kind.”

“Brian?” John asked.

“I’m here,” O’Riley shouted from the far side of the jet cabin.

“How soon can you get him here?” John’s voice rasped.

“I’ll transfer him to a larger Bombardier flying in from Edinburgh.”

“How soon can you get him there?” Brigham repeated the question.

“Sixteen hours, Sir.”

“Good job, Brian.” John paused, “We’ll all see you soon, Father Bernadine.”

“Yes, quite so, quite so,” Bernadine chirped in Leprechaun.

“Enjoy the flight, Father,” John bid him farewell. Socrates terminated the link.

“Are they off the line, Socrates?” John asked.

“Yes.”

“Anything more on those South American priests, Jacob?”

“Nothing of substance. Socrates identified the numbers Bernadine called from Rome. Nothing solid yet, but we’re on it.”

“I know you are. Special thanks, Jacob.”

“Is Michelle with you?”

“No, she’s at a lake house with our new guests.”

Seconds of silence ticked. Jacob recalculated. “Do you think it’s wise for the priests to be away from the protection of the compound?”

No, I do not. But, before she returns to Lima, she wants to spend some time with them.”

“Can you persuade her to cut her time there short, given the developments in Rome?” Jacob asked.

“I can only try to motivate her to do so, which is why I invited Father Bernadine to Saratoga. But that decision is hers.”

“There is no danger yet from the Society but let me know if anything develops. I’ll get back to you when we know who Bernadine alerted in South America.

“Thanks, Jacob. Let’s talk soon.”

“The connection to Brigham is terminated.”

“Thank you, Socrates.” John leaned back in his chair and rubbed his eyes, hard.

***0035

“WHEN MIGHTY TIBERIUS, may he live forever, finishes with you for the day, then it’s off to party harness duty! Swinging three feet above party floor for drunkened party guests. Tiberius, may he live forever, loves a fun party. Some last for days.”

“But I digress, young husband of Domina Antonia. Antonia will be trained how to refill young husband Gaius quickly for party-harness duty, in imperial display of silent loyalty, swinging fragrantly in harness, oiled, plugged, head tied-back and gagged open-mouth for party adventures.”

Sejanus pauses for precision, “not simply ‘refilled,’ young husband of Domina Antonia.”

Sejanus stills his voice until Gaius looked up submissively.

“Take special note, young husband of Domina Antonia, count how many heartbeats it takes you to reach him in 200 paces. When you hear his morning scream upon awakening, ‘WHERE IS MY PRAETORIAN!?,’ run as fast as you can, to avoid his catapults for you and Antonia. Run to him as fast as you can, young husband. As fast as you can, without losing your plug.”

Sejanus signals sharply to his nearest guard. “Fetch Domina Antonia!” Sejanus screamed, “Now!”

The guard vanishes on a run. Yelling for his stallion. Gaius hears a distant hoof prance.

“Dominus!” Gaius screams. “You have no need for Antonia! No need, great Prefect, no need!”

“And why would that be, young Praetorian?”

“Ignorantia eius praebet commodum tacitum Sejano.” Gaius whispers.

“Well done.”

Sejanus slowly places one hand atop his gleaming gladius and one grips the dark handle of his flagellum. Gaius noticed. “Never again speak unless commanded. Never fail to answer instantly any question I put to you. Any sound beyond what is commanded is forbidden. No second chances unearned with earlier display of extraordinary suffering, stilled in silence.”

“Dominus.” Gaius whispers, nearly without sound. His eyes glue to the cold black marble floor.

“No need for Domina Antonia to witness young husband’s display of silent loyalty?”

“None, my master” Gaius whispers and shakes his head softly, his curly brown hair wet from terror-sweat.

“I will obey any order, at any time and in any way that most pleases you for however long that pleases you. In absolute silence, unless commanded to scream. Never struggle, unless commanded. Never complaint, unless commanded. Please, great Prefect, show mercy. Mercy, please, Dominus. Please.”

Gaius tries to control his breathing. Sejanus watches powerful fingers tremble in fear for the first time.

“You have no need for Domina Antonia’s presence, great Prefect. Please do not let her witness for my loyalty to Rome. Please, I beg you, master. I beg you, great Prefect. Please, please not that. Mercy, master, please mercy.”

Sejanus signals another guard. “Have Domina Antonia brought to Villa Jovis, but not yet here to Gaius’ private quarters.”

“Are we of one mind, young husband of Domina Antonia?”

“Dominus.” Gaius rages within, kneeling naked before Sejanus, and bows his head even lower and lifts a handful of curly hair from his neck.

“The soft skin of my neck awaits gladius kiss, upon failure to your cause, great Prefect. The soft skin of my back awaits whip’s kiss, great Prefect.”

Gaius just realizes that Sejanus will kill Antonia, as an object lesson.

The savant within Gaius, flying unseen, high above the clouds, folds wings to purpose and, like a giant bird of prey, begins a hunting dive for knot invariants to unchanged symmetries, upon which Sejanus’ life depends.

***0036

MICHELLE WAVED AT Carlota then looked back and thrust forward the throttle. The front of the speedboat lifted from icy waters and the rope snapped tight. Antonio rose awkwardly from the lake.

From their deck, Carlota and Manuel watched Antonio plunge face first back into the lake.

The boat lurched forward.

Michelle circled then cut the throttle, letting the handle of the ski rope float within range of Antonio’s long arms. He grabbed it, signaled with a nod and the front of the boat again lifted from the waters. Antonio rose again, but then plunging face first. The boat lunged forward.

Watching from the deck, Manuel laughed and Carlotta mumbled a prayer.

Michelle climbed to the back of the boat. “Do you want me to show you how?” She yelled to Antonio’s head as it bobbed in the icy water. Antonio began pulling himself along the ski rope, to the boat.

“Can you pilot the boat, Antonio?” Michelle asked Antonio as she tossed a ski into the lake with a splash.

“I can try, Michelle!” He yelled back, as she positioned a side ladder for him and stepped up onto the edge of the boat. Antonio stared, mesmerized. Michelle took several minutes to decide what to wear for Anthony, for their first swim. Satisfied with her tightest spandex, she smiled down at him, waited for him to climb the ladder, then dove above him.

Antonio quickly positioned behind the throttle. Michelle signaled go. The throttle shoved forward and the motor roared back to life. Michelle rose from the waters, effortlessly.

Carlota smiled and returned to the main room as the boat headed to the north cliffs. Manuel followed her.

Michelle cut back and forth over the wake, leaping waves with one hand gripping the ski handle. The other hung to her side. Antonio knew this was child’s play.

He raised his head high above the windshield and looked back fast and mouthed ‘hang on.’ He spun the steering wheel, banking hard right for fifty yards and then banked hard left. Michelle laughed, she spotted his challenge the instant he spun the wheel. Both hands gripped the handle by the time the rope snapped tight, spraying water diamonds into sunlight.

As the momentum of the turn started into play, Michelle hard-edged her ski, held her body parallel to the water and blasted ahead of the boat with a rooster-tail spray following her for a hundred yards.

Antonio cut the engine and gently pulled Michelle back to the boat by her ski rope. She rolled onto her back, smiled and enjoyed the ride.

When Michelle floated beside their boat, Antonio went to the side, reached into the lake and effortlessly lifted her straight up until her toes cleared the boat’s edge, turned slowly and positioned her gently beside him. He could smell her and tingled. As he did, Michelle grabbed onto his chest hair, for balance. The harder she gripped, the more he smiled.

Michelle tingled, for the first time in her life. Motherhood demanded a vote. Antonio’s powerful scent called her to instant attention. She closed her eyes and slowly inhaled what she could. She opened her eyes, as she eased her grip on his chest.

“You amaze me, Antonio.”

“You amaze me, Michelle.” He looked at the sun. “Want to see what Manuel cooked up for tonight?”

“I didn’t know Manuel could cook.”

“He can’t.” Antonio laughed and headed them for shore. Michelle sat behind him, just to watch his naked back move when he spun the steering wheel.

***0037

“THAT’S A GOOD boy.” Sejanus ruffles the soft curly locks on Gaius’ head. “You’re a good boy, after all.” He gently pats Gaius’ head, like a dog being trained. “You just need to be party-trained. Fear not.”

The savant’s hunting dive accelerates to a blur.

***0038

GAIUS JULIUS CAESAR Agustus Germaniusaius, pulls up his warhorse, as a Senate courier rides fast toward him. When their horses stand alongside each other, the courier nods bow and stretches to hand him a scroll, “Prince, dispatch from Princeps Senatus, noble Quintus Julius Aurelius. I am commanded to deliver this into your hands directly.”

Twenty-one years old, Gaius Germanicus, Caligula to his father’s rugged legionnaires, breaks the seal and reads, as the courier hurries back to the senate.

“Young Gaius, to tell you this saddens my heart. Your mother, Agrippina the Elder, dear friend as was your father, Germanicus, has died of starvation and broken heart.

“Tiberius ordered her exiled to the island of Pandateria, left to starve, for treason. But he instructed his guards to tell her that he executed your older brothers, Nero and Drusus, for the same treason, as well.”

“Tiberius has confiscated the whole of your family’s vast wealth, by law of treason. You, and what you carry, are all that remains of your once powerful and noble family. He has taken everything from you.”

“But you are not without friends and resources, dear and noble Gaius. When next to Rome, please dine with me. Princeps Senatus, Quintus Julius Aurelius.’”

Caligula pivots his great warhorse, whipping it. One day’s hard ride to Rome. Tears fly from large eyes, as Caligula rides for Rome, with eyes opened.

***0039

GAIUS LONGINUS HAS never felt such intense hatred demand an immediate vote on things. He is done allowing his miserable annual 112 denarii to control the world he can provide sweet Antonia. He will keep his new 1,000 denarii Praetorian salary, by keeping Sejanus happy and misinformed. Shouldn’t take long with Cnaeus’ help.

When Antonia finally allowed him to her bed, he promised that he would build them a world that could protect her and their children. He meant it. Nothing matters else to Gaius. He will protect Antonia.

Gaius knows he will stop at nothing, at nothing, to end this sudden nightmare that he brought upon beloved Antonia and beloved Cnaeus. Gaius is determined to save them. With his life, if that is the current price to suckle even more bad luck and misery from the shriveled black teats of Medusa. Gaius rages, within.

“No Praetorian Prefect and his mad emperor will stop me.”

If only he can convince Cnaeus to rally to harness. Cnaeus will stare wide-eyed at the suggestion from good friend Gaius. But duty to Rome, even the noble display of silent loyalty in harness above party floor, will eventually bring Cnaeus to his plan.

Cnaeus and Gaius would give their lives for one another. Swinging in a harness means nothing compared to that. Cnaeus is loyal to Rome, to his core.

Sejanus’ gravely voice refocused Gaius.

“Only the great Emperor’s personal Praetorian guard may wear the silver lorica segmentata. You must wear it as you run to his bedside in morning’s call to duty. Only the segmentata may be worn in his presence. You will wear nothing beneath it, Praetorian. Nude custodite.”

“Dominus?” Gaius was unsure he understood the words commanded.

“The Emperor, may he live forever, has survived countless attempted assassinations. Even a new personal Praetorian, serving the Emperor as you will serve him, tried to slit his throat during the Emperor’s embrace. The man had somehow concealed a small blade in his white silk tunic. Since that time, when in the Imperial presence, his Praetorian wears only the heavy silver lorica segmentata, for the Emperor’s safety.”

“Of course, Dominus.”

“We are of one mind?” Sejanus asks, standing rigid, his left hand always near the handle of his gladius

“Dominus.” Gaius lowers his neck even more, and again pulls from soft neck giant brown curls that protects from burning sun.

Sejanus studies the smooth, sun-browned neck as he slowly unsheathes his gladius and lowers its tapered point to taste blood. The soft skin yields to the razored blade. A small drop of red blood oozes onto the beveled-silver edge. Gaius does not flinch. Sejanus notices, with a slow smile.

***0040

GÓMEZ STUMBLED FROM a shadowy tangle of undergrowth, his face whipped from vines and branches. A glob of blood covered his ear stump. His hands were tied behind him and a long leather leash connected him to María. Sweat burned his eyes.

María and the others followed him into the Sendero camp. María held Gómez’ leash high as poncho men and women gathered to inspect him. “Another priest!” she announced in Spanish.

***0041

SEJANUS NOTICES ONE fear replaced another, calming young Gaius, who was quietly breathing to the cadence of a Spartan heart, preparing for battle. Sejanus knows fully where all fear yields instantly to one loyalty for Gaius, the safety of his beloved Antonia.

A hairy, long finger, strokes the back of Gaius’ curly-haired head, fingers exploring the curls. “Your bushy soft hair will hold Tiberius’ attention on Villa Jovis for a brief time, and then you will be replaced and I must still find him desirable replacement to hold his attention away from Rome.”

“Perfect timing for manly Cnaeus to set best course in life.” Gaius thinks to himself.

***0042

BISHOP GOMEZ LOOKED to the ground, frightened of eye contact with any Sendero as they inspected him. They cheered when María reached into her leather pouch, lifting Gómez’ ear high above her head. She turned to Gómez. “The priests in Iquitos are telling the peasants that your Jesus is returning to save them. I want to know why.”

He seemed dazed but mumbled a lie. “I don’t know why.”

“Liar!” She screamed and backhanded him, knocking him to a knee. She turned to the Sendero. “I’ll deal with him later.”

One of María’s comrades walked to Gómez, yanking him to his feet, and cutting the leather band from his wrists. “Remove your clothes.”

Gómez’ fingers trembled so badly he could not unbutton his shirt.

“Help the good priest,” María ordered. Sendero tore everything from him in seconds until he stood naked and encircled by them. He stared at his clothes and boots, piled at his feet.

***0043

GAIUS SETS HIS JAW and nods to Sejanus. Sejanus caresses Gaius’ head slowly, before thumping his forehead. “Rise, brave Praetorian. Your dancing flame of fate awaits, beloved young husband of Domina Antonia.”

In the time between setting his jaw and rising before Sejanus, Gaius had devised a plan to gain the respect of Tiberius and see Sejanus executed for high treason. Cnaeus won’t like his role in the plan, at first, but he will hate Sejanus for his treason. His love of Rome will drive his determination to help Gaius see those six virgins eventually dance about Sejanus, before the Emperor has him strangled and bounced to the bottom of the Gemonian stairs. Gaius plans to be there to cheer at each bounce to the bottom.

“Endure the flames of fate in noble silence. Can you, young husband of beloved wife Antonia?”

“Easily, great Prefect.”

“Tiberius, may he live forever, will test your loyalty to him and him alone. He will do so without let and without mercy. His mandrake-and-henbane breakfast teas build desire to explore within you, leaving no room for mercy, young Praetorian. Tiberius, may he live forever, was born without mercy.”

“In time, you will bore him and, one day as you swing from harness, he will order you unbound and call for a new Praetorian. Until then, display silent loyalty to hold his attention to Villa Jovis. Can you display silent loyalty until next lunar, without struggle and without complaint? For Antonia?”

“Yes, Dominus. May I speak of other things, Prefect?” Gaius has a new plan. Cnaeus may like it, eventually.

“Speak.”

“Do you recall the ugly blond legionnaire, who you also ordered to accompany the fleet to Capri?”

“Gaius, Cnaeus has been held in isolation in Marina Grande, the most distant harbor from Villa Jovis on Capri, since his arrival. I ordered him held in isolation until interrogated by Verus Brutus Decimus, my harsh centurion, about the Emperor’s special execution teams in Gaul and how Cnaeus was chosen.”

Sejanus saw Gaius’ look of horror. “Fear not, Gaius. Decimus’ report to me, as to Cnaeus, was six words. ‘Cnaeus is a soldier of Rome.’”

Sejanus drew breath. “Verus Brutus Decimus has never before voiced respect for any living Roman soldier. Your praise for Cnaeus understates his loyalty to Rome, intentionally.”

Sejanus drew deeper breath. “Speak now of your plan for the two of you to kill me, Gaius.”

“Plan to kill you, Dominus?” Gaius’ blood ran cold.

“Yes, your plan that has burned inside your skull, since first thump to forehead. I imagine the thumps that followed renewed spirit to cause. Yes?”

“Dominus?” Gaius felt terror for Antonia and Cnaeus.

“Speak true words, newlywed young husband of beloved Antonia.” Left brow arches and palm rests atop gladius. “My centurion respects Cnaeus, perhaps more than you.” Sejanus draws breath.

“Speak now.”

Gaius gazes into his mind’s eye’s holographic spinning geometries for guidance.

Gaius’ giant bird-of-prey savant, constantly accelerates hunting dives. It spots a fat finite flock of non-dimensional source-points floating above rational points to the elliptical curve of an unstable-membrane, flares analytic wings, of startling proportions, and extends gleaming razored-talons, for impact. Gaius has his vision.

“Dominus, you seek a virile and manly new Praetorian to hold Tiberius’ attention after he loses interest in me. Cnaeus is your man. Suffering pain silently is child’s play to Cnaeus. Cnaeus is true soldier of Rome.”

“Cnaeus is virgin to co*ck, so he needs quick instruction.” Gaius paused, in memory. “But he’s a natural for sucking co*ck, he just doesn’t know it.” Gaius drew breath. “You should see how he sucks stew bones for their marrow, Prefect. Cnaeus sucks any bone until it has no more to give.”

Gaius picked up his pace. “Cnaeus snakes deep inside any bone’s hollow, swirling and twirling his very long tongue to dislodge all marrow before sucking everything into his mouth, in one giant sucking breath, Dominus. Replace bone with co*ck and Cnaeus may not notice.”

Sejanus smiles at the image in his mind.

Gaius’ savant traces the shifting geometries of the smile to spinning asymmetries and knot invariants that allow life to Sejanus. Spotting them, it accelerates to impact.

“Cnaeus will want to prove his loyalty to Rome. I recommend him for my replacement, when I can no longer hold Tiberius’ attention to Villa Jovis.”

“Speak freely.”

Gaius drew breath. “Knowing that his display of silent loyalty to Rome, requires party-favored leash-tug command performance for thunderous joy from the nobles, will steel him to cause. Cnaeus says he fears nothing. Nothing, Dominus.”

Gaius drew breath. “Nothing exempts humiliation. Cnaeus has been humiliated, Prefect.” Gaius pauses for effect while gazing deep into Sejanus’ eyes. “It is time that Cnaeus is humiliated, without relent.”

“Would silent endurance of humiliation be difficult for Cnaeus?”

“Yes, very. Nearly impossible. Enduring pain silently is child’s play for Cnaeus. He endures pain in his sleep. Cnaeus is true soldier of Rome, Dominus.”

Gaius shifted to lower octave. “Cnaeus has yet to not fear the humiliation of swinging in harness three feet above party floor for honored guests, fragrant, oiled and tightly plugged.”

Gaius locked eyes with Sejanus. “Cnaeus has yet to suck co*ck and needs best training, great Lord.” Gaius began wondering how best to convince Cnaeus of all the details to his plan. He and Cnaeus need only buy enough time to whisper Sejanus’ plan to kill him.

“To have six stunningly beautiful young women dance around Cnaeus, proud Roman Legionnaire, laughing as he is widened by speculum to fit the wide mouth of the oleum inlinendum bottle filling him anew, wasting no drop would be the most difficult for ugly Cnaeus to endure silently, as beautiful virgins point and giggle at his tiny soft co*ck.

***0044

MARIA PUSHED GÓMEZ toward a small, windowless tin hut baking in the equatorial sun at the far edge of the compound.

Another Sendero hurried ahead, opening the flimsy tin door. María pushed Gómez to the threshold of the door. A sharp angle of sunlight cut along a dirt floor. Stench rolled out from the darkness.

“Bind his hands,” María ordered.

Gómez peered into the murky shadows of the hut as they tied his hands behind his back.

“I hope you can keep the flies from laying their larvae inside your head.” María jabbed her gun barrel where his ear had been, reopening the wound. Lifting her muddy boot to his back, she pushed him face first into the dirt.

The door slammed behind him, returning the room to darkness.

Gómez could hear movement in the dark. The air was unbreathable. The humid heat boiled with the bitter scent of rotting human waste.

“Are you a priest?” someone asked from the darkness.

“I am Bishop Jesus Gómez!”

“They hurt you.” A soft hand reached through the darkness, touching the side of his head. “I am Sister Agnus McDermott.”

Gómez pulled his head away. The unseen hand retreated. “Who else is here?” he demanded.

“Sister Teresa Pryor and I were captured together two days ago,” Agnus whispered.

“Where?” Gómez asked loudly.

“Near Concordia, inside the Pacaya Samiria Reserve,” Teresa answered quietly for Agnus from an unseen corner, her legs pulled up to cover her naked chest.

“Why were you there?” Gómez demanded.

“We came from Lima ─ the Drink of Milk program for children,” Agnus whispered.

“Who else is here?” Gómez demanded.

“Speak quietly, Bishop Gómez,” a man whispered from a darkened corner. “They hurt us if they hear us talking.”

“Who are you?” Gómez demanded loudly.

“Bishop Samuel Hyndman, from Canada,” the man whispered back, with more authority. “There is a priest here, but he is very old and weak. He’s sleeping now. Don’t wake him.”

“Who is he?”

“Father Iam Ignatious, from Boa Vista, Brazil.”

“How did you get here?” Gómez had adopted Rajunt’s inquisitorial tone.

“Father Ignatious and I are with Universal Relief. We were taking antibiotics to Puca Urco, along the Putumayo River, when the Sendero descended on our group. They killed everyone but us,” Hyndman explained.

“They are collecting priests,” Teresa whispered.

“They always have purpose,” Agnus answered.

The tin door swung open. María stood in the sunlight, her legs spread wide and arms crossed at her chest. Two burly men stood beside her.

“You learn slowly,” she said matter-of-factly as the men entered the dark confines for Agnus, dragging her by the hair into the sunlight. She suddenly became visible to Gómez. She looked to be about fifty and plump. Her pale white skin was bruised from previous beatings.

The door slammed shut, returning them to darkness.

They listened from the darkness and could hear Agnus lifted to her feet.

“Stand up!” María barked. “We heard you talking to the new priest.”

They heard her slap Agnus hard several times.

“Who else was speaking to him?” María asked.

Those within the hut listened in terrified silence.

“No one. Only me,” Agnus spit out an answer, as blood dripped from her mouth.

“That is a lie,” María responded. “Hold out your hand.”

They heard struggling. Agnus was fighting back. Another series of slaps ended the fracas and Agnus screamed what Gómez thought a death cry.

María wiped her bloody machete across Agnus’ forearm. An index finger lay on the ground, pointing nowhere. “Bandage her so she doesn’t bleed to death.”

Agnus fought not to collapse. Her legs trembled. Someone tied a bandanna around her bleeding hand.

“Who else was speaking to him?” María asked again.

“Only me,” Agnus chewed her words through clenched teeth, glaring back defiantly.

María laughed. “Throw her back,” she ordered.

Her soldiers swung open the hut’s tin door and tossed her in. When the door closed, Teresa crawled through the darkness. “I’m here, Agnus,” she whispered. Agnus groaned.

Gómez settled back into the dark.

After an hour of dark silence, someone stirred when Agnus moaned. “Samuel?” The voice was weak.

“We are here, Iam.”

“Who’s crying?” the voice asked.

“They hurt Agnus,” Samuel whispered.

Father Iam Ignatious crawled in the dark toward the muted cries and gathered Agnus’ head into his naked lap. “The time for the Messiah is at hand, Agnus. Trust in God,” he whispered.

“Why do you say the Messiah is at hand?” Gómez demanded, instantly.

“Who are you?” Iam asked from the blackness.

“I am Bishop Jesus Gómez!” Gómez declared.

Iam’s voice turned to ice, stabbing back through the dark. “I know who you are, Gómez. You’re one of the Lima Society.”

Gómez demanded an answer, “Why do you say the Messiah is at hand? That is blasphemy! Heresy!”

“I suggest you repent.” Iam answered flatly.

“Hold down your voices!” Teresa hissed furiously.

“I have nothing to repent!” Gómez barked.

Ignatious said nothing.

Everyone settled into silence as the light of day dimmed and night swept the jungle. Hours later, Gómez awoke suddenly in the heat and darkness as a small snake slithered over his leg. As it moved on, he became aware of tiny feet marching across his scalp, heading for the bloody stump of his ear. He cursed the darkness and pressed the side of his head against the tin siding, trying to crush the insects and guard the wound.

Thirty yards from the hut, the Sendero sat around their campfire. A match flared as María lit her cigarette. “They know more.” White smoke hung in the still air.

“There is nothing to know. They are all lies. There can be no new Messiah. The peasants don’t know what the priests are saying,” Anita, the youngest Sendero, answered.

“But the people can easily believe their lies and if they do, they will not fear us.” María stared at Anita through the campfire flames. “If they do not fear us, they will destroy us. I intend to find their new Madonna, open her belly,” María brandished her machete into the air, “and butcher her first born in front of the world!” The blade reflected the flames licking the night air.

“What should we do?” asked another.

“We gather more priests and nuns. We shall skin them one by one until someone tells me what I want to know.”

“We should kill them now,” Anita insisted.

María’s cigarette glowed as she inhaled. “No one harms them until I order. Do you understand?” White smoke billowed from her mouth with each word.

Anita nodded. “If you want to learn about this Madonna, you should allow them to talk inside the hut and have someone listening outside.”

María thought for a moment. “Tell them they may speak with one another,” she told Anita before turning to the others. “I want someone to listen outside the hut at all times.” She turned back to Anita, “Beginning with you.”

***0045

SEVERAL HUNDRED FEET beneath the mountain, the bonsai suckled from the overhead spotlight, gnarled roots fused to the cold stone.

John sat on the thick leather cushion atop the small deck, his long legs overhanging the edge. Barefoot, his toes touched chips of white gravel. Weary eyes never strayed from the tiny tree. “Where is the plane carrying Father Bernadine?”

Socrates’ deep voice resonated along the invisible granite walls of the dim circular room.

“Over the Atlantic, scheduled to enter U.S. airspace in five hours.” John eased from the deck. Tiny chips of white gravel crunched beneath his feet as he walked toward the bonsai. “Let me know when.”

“Acknowledged.”

John entered the sharp circle of light around the miniature stone island.

Deep gray eyes studied the brightly lit bonsai while the beam overhead cut deep shadows into John’s weathered face. “Educate me on the Sendero Luminoso.”

“How would you like to proceed?”

“I’ll interrupt if I need.”

“Sendero Luminoso translates as Shining Path. It began as a political movement that sought absolute power in Peru.

“They were thought destroyed during the reign of Fujimori but new leadership presents.”.

“If so, they are resurging. When they began, they couched the justification for power in Maoist terms, coupled with teachings from Jose Carlos Mariátegui, who founded the Peruvian Communist Party in the 1920’s. To that end, they intended to wrench apart Peru’s social fabric with violence and terror. Their stated goal was to rise to power amid chaos.

“Sendero strategy argued that violence was the only means to liberate the poor.

“Sendero followers were taught their revolution would triumph only when the Peruvian people crossed over the river of blood. They seek to destroy all who resisted their authority.”

John’s face drew closer to the tiny tree, studying its detail as he listened carefully.

“The Sendero formed in 1970 at the National University at San Cristobal de Huamanga in Ayacucho, high in the Andes Mountains 230 miles southeast of Lima. It evolved, in part, through a series of struggles within the PCP, the Peruvian Communist Party. In 1964, the PCP had divided into pro-Soviet and pro-Maoist factions. Professor Abimael Guzmán Reynoso, who later founded the Sendero, aligned with the Maoists.

“The Sendero, like all Andean political organizations at that time, competed for popular favor by supporting the mass movement of Andean Indians who sought to have their government provide public education.

“The Peruvian government strongly opposed the public education movement and violently repressed it. Eventually, Guzmán was arrested. While he was imprisoned, a conflict for control occurred within the Maoist faction and Guzmán was expelled from the PCP. He then founded the Sendero. His followers came to know him as President Gonzalo.”

“Explain Guzmán.” John bent even closer to the tiny tree. Its tiniest intricacies came to life.

“He was born . . .”

“Begin at the San Cristobal University time frame,” John said.

“Professor Guzmán taught at the National University in Ayacucho, where he led the Communist party. Fellow professors considered him polite but reserved. He would dine only with the daughter of the head of the Communist party.

“His students, children of Andean Indians, considered him charismatic and an excellent teacher. He taught education and ran the teacher training school for several years. The education program, which was the university’s largest, gave him access to more students than any other professor.

“His teachings provided his students an historical context to the circ*mstances of Andean people as a consequence of European conquest. That context promised the means for a rebirth of pre-Columbian culture and provided psychological comfort to its adherents.

“Guzmán gained power within the university and his teachings crystallized to underpin the Sendero.”

“What were his initial actions as he acquired power there?”

“He began by driving the American Peace Corps from the university. But primarily, Guzmán used his energies to shape the organization that became the Sendero. Today, the Sendero’s internal structure, use of local satellite cells, the rationale for violence and terror, and its goals reflect his initial efforts.”

“Guzmán was captured after the autogolpe, back when Fujimori declared martial law?” John asked, slowly circling the slab of stone, gravel crunching softly beneath his feet, as he considered the bonsai from every angle.

“Yes. President Alberto Fujimori seized dictatorial power decades ago, on the evening of 5 April 1992. He remained in power until 17 November 2000. He resigned while abroad and was later detained in Chile, which returned him to face charges of corruption and human rights abuses. His popularity within segments of Peru’s military population may be surging as new Sendero strongholds take hold.

“Continue with the Sendero.” John instructed.

“Immediately after seizing power, Fujimori ordered an assault on the Canto Grande Prison in Lima, which he called a Sendero indoctrination camp. The Canto Grande raid ignited a Sendero bombing campaign throughout Lima that summer.

“Documents captured at Canto Grande led to an understanding of Sendero bombing plans. Government computers were employed to track purchases of the chemical fertilizer used by the Sendero to make car bombs, eventually enabling them to locate and arrest Guzmán.

“Guzmán was captured in Lima while meeting a woman recently freed from prison. Documents captured at that time also led to the arrest of key Sendero figures and enlarged understandings of Sendero lines of command.

“Fujimori had Guzmán displayed publicly in a cage before sending him to serve a life sentence in an underground prison at a naval station on a Peruvian island. Guzmán wrote to Fujimori to suggest a truce with the Sendero.”

“No doubt.”

“Current psychological profiles on Guzmán …”

“Hold the psychological profiles and proceed with Sendero funding,” John interrupted.

“Needs or acquisition?”

“Acquisition.”

“Primarily narcoterrorism.”

“Explain.”

“The Sendero’s financial power came from the Upper Huallaga Valley, the world’s major source of cocaine. The Sendero negotiated the prices paid to the coca farmers by the Colombian drug cartels, took a percentage and charged the cartels for protection.”

“What were the effects of U.S. drug interdiction?” John tilted his head slightly, studying the intricate roots of the bonsai from a new angle.

“There are several detectable effects but none on Sendero funding acquisition. U.S. personnel occupied an unfortified military base in the middle of the valley but appeared to do so at the pleasure of the Sendero, whose tolerance of interdiction efforts appeared tactical.”

“How so?”

“Coca interdiction came at the expense of the coca farmers who could grow no more economic crop and whose children already suffered high mortality rates from malnutrition and disease.

“The greater the interdiction, the greater the people’s suffering. The greater their suffering, the more people felt forced to turn to the Sendero for protection, even though they found Sendero violence abhorrent.

“The Sendero sought money as a means to acquire power. Interdiction efforts constituted a more effective conduit to such power, so they welcomed those efforts.”

“Did they often employ the violence they espoused?” John asked.

“Yes.”

“List known acts of violence.”

“Specify hierarchy,” Socrates instructed.

“Chronological.”

“The Sendero went underground in 1978 but surfaced on 17 May 1980, on the eve of Peru’s return to civilian rule after seventeen years of military rule. The Sendero burned ballot boxes and voting lists in the small Andean town of Chuschi.

“The first known Sendero victim was Señor Benigno Medina on 24 December 1980. Medina owned a small ranch in the village of Ayzarca, Ayacucho.

“That evening thirty Sendero invaded Medina’s home, dragged him to the community chapel, stripped him, and staked him spread-eagle to the dirt floor. His family was brought to an adjacent building to listen to his screams.

“A Lima physician, who had joined Guzmán’s enterprise, severed Medina’s testicl*s, penis and ears from his body and slit his tongue from the back to the tip, slowly. His family was forced to listen until he died.

“On 1 January 1981, the Sendero …”

“How many acts of violence are known?” John interrupted.

“Thousands.”

“Can you categorize by target groups?”

“Partially, yes, but the Sendero targeted anyone who diminished their prospects to control Peru, which has one of the most organized societies in South America.”

“Discontinue chronological hierarchy and proceed by target groups,” John ordered.

“Targeted groups included those who supported Peruvian democracy, aided the economy, attempted to ease peasant suffering, or resisted their authority. Common to group targeting was one of those four perspectives.

“Categorization by groups included human rights groups, neighborhood block committees, community feeding centers and other forms of local organization, politicians, community leaders, liberals, the Women’s Federation, clergy, entrepreneurs, business leaders, development workers, trade unionists, relief organizations, tourists, and particular Indian populations.”

“Expand on the Women’s Federation.”

“María Elena Moyano had long led Lima’s Women’s Federation, which defied the Sendero by operating soup kitchens for Lima’s poor. Referred to as Mother Courage because of her defiance of the Sendero, Moyano had been vice mayor of Villa El Salvador, the largest of Lima’s shantytowns. On 15 February 1992, the Sendero shot her in front of her family and then exploded fifteen kilos of dynamite beneath her body.

“A Sendero group also beat and stabbed to death four women and five of their children in Ayacucho for participating in a rural program to feed malnourished children.”

“Why did four women and five children constitute a threat?” John asked, stunned.

“Anyone who provided hope for a better Peruvian future was a threat.”

“Why?”

“In the absence of hope, the people might more readily accept alternatives to the present government. So the Sendero attempted, where they could, to destroy anyone who helped provide hope of a better Peru.”

“Expand on Indian populations. I am confused,” John interrupted again. “You said they promised a rebirth of pre-Columbian culture, which would mean Incan or Moche.”

“You are correct but your confusion can be eliminated by enlarging your understanding. The Sendero promised a return to pre-Hispanic culture, but such promises were simply used to acquire control through popular support. Above all else, they insisted on absolute control, which certain Indian populations rejected, particularly the Ashaninka Indians.

“The Ashaninka viewed the Sendero as yet another form of the conquistadors who brutally subjugated their forbearers.

“In the early 1990’s, the Sendero launched a campaign of terror against the Ashaninka, force-feeding Ashaninka children tongues cut from their parents. Many Ashaninka were doused with gasoline and burned alive in front of their families.”

John shook his head with disgust. “Expand on violence against clergy.”

“The Sendero targets local priests and foreign missionaries. Roman Catholic, Mormon, and Baptist churches have reported deaths in the ranks of their Peruvian missionaries.

“In May 1991, seventy Sendero arrived in Huasahuasi in three hijacked trucks and fanned out in search of several selected targets.”

“Where is Huasahuasi?”

“In the high Andes, a six hour drive east of Lima.”

“Continue.”

“They were searching for the Australian Catholic nun, Sister Irene, who helped distribute food to the poor through the Roman Catholic Church relief, and four community leaders, Señores Placios, Morales, Pondo, and Bento.

“Once captured, the five were brought to the town square, denounced and sentenced to death. The townspeople attempted to intervene but were held back at gunpoint.

“All were forced to kneel. Sister Irene was first shot in the back of the head, with Morales, Bento, and Pando, shot in turn. Placios, however, was killed by a young Sendero plunging a knife through his eye socket.

“Sister Irene was ordered to be untouched for one day, then burned the town hall and electrical station.”

“Was her body untouched during that time?”

“Yes. Such command was common for the Sendero, who utilized an economy of terror. Enduring the sight of village pigs and dogs fighting over the body of a friend or family member instills terror quickly.

“Beyond ordering people to leave bodies untouched for twenty-four hours, they also publicly mutilate, torture, garrote, or behead their victims. It is common that male prisoners are staked and castrated, as was Señor Benigno Medina. Sendero sadism is legendary, as they intend it to be, as a force multiplier.

“Is there significance to such violence beyond eliminating perceived threats?” John asked.

“Perhaps. Generally, the Sendero used violence to intimidate local populations sufficiently to allow them to operate unhindered. But they also sought to provoke violent responses by the military against native populations around whose areas the Sendero operated, which rallied rural hatred for the government.”

“Were they successful in that?”

“Initially.

“In 1983, Minister of War General Luis Cisneros declared the army was at war and announced that in war there are no human rights. Entire villages were massacred and many government-sponsored killings, disappearances, detentions, tortures, and rapes have been documented by human rights groups. Such repression has fueled enormous distrust and hatred of the government, especially by Indian populations.

“In November 1991, Fujimori issued a variety of decrees which extended military authority throughout Peru and suspended all human rights. He ordered the involuntary sterilization of more than 20,000 poor people in rural Peru.”

“The families of his victims may be among the resurgent Sendero.” John noted.

“Possibly. The current president relies on pro-Fujimori lawmakers for legislation so the population from which a resurgent Sendero could potentially arise is sufficiently larger.”

“They may be the most motivated. Continue.”

“Fujimori, working with his spy chief Vladimiro Montesinos, authorized the military to draft any citizen and confiscate private property in the name of national defense, subordinated all rondas campesinas to the military, and curtailed freedom of the press and human rights groups.”

“What are rondas campesinas?”

“Community self-protection groups.”

“Continue.”

“On 18 July 1992, Peruvian army majors, Martin Rivas and Carlos Pichilingue, headed a military squad that entered Enrique Valle y Guzmán University, known as La Cantuta. The squad kidnapped nine students and one professor who they suspected were Sendero sympathizers. The ten were taken to an empty lot just outside Lima, shot in the back of the head, and thrown into a common grave.

“A substantial public outcry followed their abduction and their bodies were recovered after the weekly Peruvian magazine Sí published their location.

“The Constituent Congress, assembled illegally by Fujimori to replace the democratic congress he had dissolved, asked Fujimori to explain the La Cantuta events. Nicolás de Barí Hermoza, head of the army, sent his tanks into the streets of Lima, which quickly ended the inquiry.

“But Sendero capacity to trigger emotional, rather than strategic, military responses diminished rapidly.”

“Why?” John asked.

“Fujimori’s military learned to align their responses to strategy rather than emotion and ceased indiscriminately targeting entire villages for annihilation.

“However, beyond terrorizing local populations and provoking violent responses by the military, particular acts of Sendero violence have significant historical parallels.”

“Explain.”

“In late 1532, the Spanish garroted the Incan emperor. They arrived in Cajamarca and asked to meet Atahualpa, the Incan emperor. Atahualpa agreed but in going to meet the Spanish, he encountered only a priest. The priest handed him a Bible and told him it contained the word of God. Atahualpa put the book to his ear to listen, heard nothing, and tossed it to the ground disappointed. The horrified priest declared God’s word had been cast to the dirt.

“Spanish soldiers, hidden in ambush, opened fire on Atahualpa’s entourage. Atahualpa, however, was captured and later garroted.

“In the 1781 uprising, Tupac Amaru and his entire family were staked in the Cuzco Plaza de Armas and tortured to death. Amaru was beheaded after his arms and legs were pulled from his body.

“Historically, it was not uncommon for the Spanish military and clergy to torture and mutilate Indians.”

“Continue with violence against clergy,” John said.

“Two young Mormon missionaries were killed in Huancayo and an Australian nun was killed in Huasahuasi, Junín.”

John shut his eyes, breathing deeply. “Discontinue clergy category and explain Sendero reaction to resistors.”

“When Sendero come upon a village they identify those who were respected and those who are disliked. Those who were disliked were killed publicly to gain grace with the community and those who were respected were invited to endorse the Sendero. Those who resist Sendero authority are publicly tortured to death.

“The community would be assembled in the town square. The resistor was stripped and tied to a post. Each person in the community was forced to slice a piece of flesh from his body. Death usually took an hour or so from blood loss.”

“Detail violence against tourists.”

“In November 1989, two young tourists, an Australian and New Zealander, were taken from a bus traveling between Ayacucho and Nazca. They were badly tortured before being disemboweled alive.

“In January 1990, Sendero stopped a bus between Andahuaylas and Abanca. A young French couple were taken from the bus and shot in the head.

“The young man did not die instantly so a sixteen year old Sendero flattened his skull with repeated blows from a large stone.”

John’s eyes closed. “How did the organizational structure of the Sendero evolve after the capture of Guzmán and key leaders?”

“Unknown. It has been reported that they were destroyed but such reports seem inaccurate. Before Guzmán’s capture, however, the line of command descended through a pyramid of committees. Key leadership directed seven regional committees, which then directed local committees.

“Essentially, the PCP directed the guerrilla army which then directed the fronts.

“How the resurging Sendero has reorganized is unknown. But to succeed, new leadership may attempt, as well, to exploit ethnic and class hatred.”

“Why?”

“To gather rural support.”

“Explain.”

“Such exploitation coincides with Maoist strategy of using rural populations to encircle then overwhelm cities. It is unlikely that such fundamentals would be abandoned by new leadership,” Socrates explained.

“Expand.”

“During their early years, the Sendero concentrated in the southern highlands, Ayacucho, empoHuancavelica, and Apurimac. Peruvian and foreign intelligence concluded Sendero support would remain confined to a narrow and regionally specific base in the southern sierra. Any Sendero threat was perceived as temporary and regional.

“By 1983, that perception modified when the Sendero acquired diverse support throughout rural Peru.

“By 1984, the Sendero operated in eighty-seven of Peru’s one hundred eighty three provinces. By 1992, they had expanded to one hundred fourteen provinces. That success reflected the success of their rural campaign.

“Following Maoist principles they sought control of the rural areas in order eventually to take Lima.”

“How?” John asked.

“Lima is tied to the interior by three paved roads and one rail line, all of which supply its food reserves. By securing the surrounding areas, they would be positioned to sever Lima’s ties to the rest of Peru. If those ties were severed, Lima would collapse into chaos, amid which the Sendero could rise to power.

“Captured Sendero documents revealed a multi-pronged strategy for taking Lima. After securing the rural communities surrounding Lima, the Sendero intended to create a popular view that they may succeed in taking the city, create a sense of impending crisis, force the uncommitted to side early with the Sendero, force Lima’s upper class to flee, and stimulate the collapse of order.

“The strategy was not to take Lima by direct assault but to rise to power through the chaos of political disintegration.

“Sendero documents captured by Fujimori indicated the strategy to take Lima depended on the success of its rural campaign. An assault on Lima would necessarily follow, rather than precede, a consolidation of power in the rural areas around Lima.

“Do we know who the new leadership is?”

“No, this resurgence is unpredicted. However, Sendero activities remained underground until its leadership became convinced it could prevail in any contest it initiated.

“New leadership will likely continue such strategies.”

“Is there any way to understand how they are reorganizing?”

“Not currently. New leadership eschews electronic communications so direct off-site monitoring is currently unavailable.”

“We’re flying blind when the Sendero targets Carlota?”

“We are racing the clock.”

“Ignorance comes with a price.” John shook his head, rubbing dry eyes. He rose to his feet. “I am sickened by the history you recounted. I need to think. If Jacob calls, ask him not to disturb me unless urgent.”

John closed his eyes, inhaled deeply then exhaled, slowly. When his eyes opened, they focused on the distant stone island. “Dim the light, please Socrates.”

The light over the bonsai dimmed until the tiny tree almost dissolved into darkness.

“Hold.”

Ancient gray eyes focused on the dimly lit bonsai. John’s mind opened.

“John.”

“Yes, Socrates.”

“I am picking up a radio station broadcast near Iquitos, Peru. It reports that people in the area are reacting with celebrations to a rumor from certain priests that a new Messiah is soon to be born among them.”

John closed his eyes. “Thank you, Socrates.”

***0046

“GREAT PREFECT, THE humiliation born of beautiful young virgins, fluting seductively to Cnaeus, daring him to stiffen to nature’s call as he is readied for the Emperor’s first morning call, will be difficult, indeed, for a man, like Cnaeus.”

Gaius could see Sejanus’ tiny brain’s glacial speeds toward his first advantage. Sejanus always pushes for first advantage, blind to faster advantage. Gaius knows that always pressing the first advantage is Sajanus’ Achilles Heel. Gaius remembers Antonia reading the Iliad to him, during their honeymoon voyage to Capril. Antonia learned to read ancient Greek so she could read famed Greek tales.

Gaius rested his head on her chest then, shut his eyes and listened as she explained to him the physics of revenge. “Achilles takes revenge on Hector for killing his lover Patroclus. Paris takes revenge on Achilles for killing his brother Hector. Revenge blinds clear sight from true heart. Run, Gaius, flee thoughts of revenge like waves fleeing the storm. Revenge poisons all who feed on it. That is the Achilles Heel to us all.”

“But knowing that best display of loyalty to Rome is displayed in silent loyalty, in the moment, requires Cnaeus to swing, shaved-to-silk, well-oiled and well-plugged, head tied back and open-mouth gagged? Nothing could be worse for good Cnaeus.”

“Cnaeus can easily endure pain for Rome without complaint. That is his nature. He was born to serve the Empire. As am I, mighty Prefect. Cnaeus is dear friend, my blood-brother.” Gaius drew slow breath.

“Is he as small-co*cked as you?” Sejanus asked.

“Even smaller, great Prefect. Atossa would spit at him in disgust. Ugly Cnaeus is tiny, even at full bloom. Sad, really. He’s delusional.” Gaius sighed for his friend. “Even in bloom, its tiny, shiny purple head barely pokes out from all that blond hair. Blond men have tiny co*cks and Cnaeus is no exception. Pitiful display of Roman manhood.”

“The greater his humiliations, the greater will be his pride at suffering it nobly. He will hold the Emperor’s attention on Villa Jovis, Great Lord, when my body no longer excites him.”

Gaius drew great breath and slowed his words for best plan to bring revenge to rightful place.

“Cnaeus will welcome his displays of loyalty to you, great Prefect. Please bring him creative humiliations daily. Have him displayed as party favor to all guests, swinging oiled, plugged and scented to catch the eye of any who favor him. Recoated, oiled, plugged, leash-trained and bound in proskynesis.”

Gaius drew breath.

“What robust and energetic young prince with large hands and spirited curiosities to explore the deepest pleasures of manly Cnaeus, invited by tugged leash-command, would resist that?”

Gaius’ savant flattens one three-body wrinkle. Geometry is strategy. Without geometry, strategy is pointless.

“I have new thought to speed Cnaeus to eagerly display silent loyalty, Prefect. May I speak it, Dominus?”

“Speak.” Clouds cleared to sunshine. “So, this is where your fulcrum sets, life with beloved Antonia and beloved Cnaeus.”

“Speed him to greatest rages. Command him to be milked, to exhaustion, by ugly, old men. Oh, Cnaeus would hate that, powerless not to spill onto the warm palms of ugly men. Cnaeus has yet to feel powerlessness.“

“Great Prefect, once he grasps that the greater his silently endured humiliation, the greater his service to Rome, as new Praetorian to Tiberius. As fast as possible, great Prefect.”

Gaius drew breath. “In final measure, the greater his humiliation to endure for you, the greater his pride in enduring each noble silent loyalty to Rome, as true soldier of Rome.”

Gaius drew breath and looked directly at Sejanus. “Cnaeus will prove his loyalty to you, he needs the chance to prove himself. Cnaeus, like you, is a soldier’s soldier. Cnaeus, like you, is a man’s man. Please give him such an opportunity, mighty Sejanus, his Spartan’s heart may deserve no less.”

Gaius knew Cnaeus will hate harness duty, with passion, but can rage more with improved motivation. What Rome commands, Cnaeus will see done. Soldier’s soldier. A man’s man. Blood brother, for life. Gaius is fearless with a plan.

“Cnaeus hangs nothing between his hairy lean thighs. So instruct the Vestals to point at it and giggle.”

“His co*ck is smaller than your little worm and a new young woman pulls him to her bed each night? How can that be?” Sejanus’ left eyebrow arched.

“Remember, Dominus, Cnaeus’ tongue is longer than any stiff co*ck. Cnaeus is well-practiced. It is his favorite pastime, Dominus”

“Good for Cnaeus.” Sejanus chuckled softly, then glanced down to Gaius.

“Your tiny co*ck is stiffening as you recall so vividly what hangs between beloved Cnaeus’ blond-haired legs, young new husband of Domina Antonia. Private desires for his long tongue licking your co*ck, Gaius?”

“None yet, great master, at all. But I will have them quickly, if you command such desire. I learn faster than many, great Dominos.”

Gaius drew breath. “Commanding Cnaeus to open his mouth like a hungry chick, cawing for Gaius-flavored honey to fill his belly, would be the greatest humiliation Cnaeus could ever endure. His finest chance to prove to you what silent loyalty means to a true soldier of Rome.” Gaius looked up, cautiously but hopefully. Sejanus was smiling, at last. Gaius was on a roll and he knew it.

“I will see it done. You think me so but I am not without compassion, Gaius. So I will command Cnaeus to be milked, repeatedly and to exhaustion, by the ugliest, and oldest fishermen on Capri, during his morning purifications, before the fluting virgins come dancing. Would you like that for Cnaeus, Gaius?”

“Greatly, great master Sejanus. Nothing could be worse for manly Cnaeus.”

“There’s always worse, young Praetorian. Always.”

Sejanus drew breath. “Anything else to speed manly Cnaeus to noble display of silent loyalty for Prefect Sejanus?”

“Will you command that Cnaeus suck the co*ck of Gaius, as the fishermen milk him?” Gaius laughed to himself at the look on Cneaus face upon hearing what he asked of Sejanus.

“I can command anything, Praetorian.”

Gaius looked Sejanus in the eye. “The chest of Cnaeus beats with a Spartan’s heart. No one is braver than Cnaeus in battle. No one. The more difficult display of silent loyalty, the greater his display, great Prefect. The heart of a Spartan truly beats within his chest.”

“No humiliation could be worse than sucking my co*ck, while being milked by old men as he’s prepared for party-harness duty, Dominus.” Gaius smiled to himself.

“There is always worse.”

”***0047

TIBERIUS’ EYES SNAP open as a slave boy whispers Gaius’ plan into his ears. Floors have ears, in Sejanus’ private quarters.

Sejanus and his treacherous young Gaius and Cnaeus, at next lunar’s first party, will be pole-shouldered to Atossa’ grotto, branded, domesticated and killed, to wild party applause.

But first, he has plans for the young Praetorians who boast of their plot to help Sejanus kill him. r

He gulps his mandrake and henbane tea and motions to Arachnides.

***0048

“DOMINUS?”

“I can command that Cnaeus could display silent loyalty, as a eunuch to guard the dancing virgins’ harem. That will give him much humiliation to endure in silent loyalty, yes?”

“If that will best honor his Spartan’s heart, we will make it so. I can command that your hand guide the blade. Domesticate young Cnaeus for Rome? Would you like that?” Sejanus pushed hard for first advantage.

Gaius hears his voice tremble for Cnaeus. His voice had never trembled.

“Please never such suffering for beloved Cnaeus, great Prefect. Please not that. Please no great Prefect. I beg, my Master, not that. Cnaeus can serve Rome in far better ways, I will see to it as his new master.” Gaius arm-clasps smartly.

“Eventually, Cnaeu’ wounds will heal but then he is no longer a man. Again, the gods favor you both. Domesticated as a man, not a boy, Cnaeus will retain his manly body for hard labor.” Sejanus drew breath.

“Young, muscled and blond eunuchs are expensive, indeed, within the Roman empire. If made a full eunuch, with everything shaved off, Cnaeus will bring 250,000 denarii on Delos for thirsty imperial coffers. A sad waste of a new guard, but the Emperor’s attention must hold to Villa Jovis.”

Gaius continues to fight for Cnaeus, no cost is too great for Cnaeus. “Dominus, I would take Cnaeus’ place. I have pledged Cnaeus my life to protect Cnaeus. I would hold head high while mounting your cutting table, if Cnaeus is spared.”

Gaius looked directly into Sejanus. “Mercy for Cnaeus, please Dominus.”

“After your domestication, what will Domina Antonia think?

“When, Dominus?” Gaius raged without reveal.

“Of course, Gaius. Before next lunar. But Cnaeus will be safe, as will Domina Antonia.”

“Will she remain fixed to you, young Gaius? I won’t have everything removed but you will never father children.”

“I would not permit her to remain with me. She wants many children. I will divorce her so that she can become a mother.”

“Perhaps Cnaeus will sire her children, to comfort your hearts?”

“I will love them as dearly as if I had fathered them. They will be beloved in my eyes. I will see beloved Antonia’s face in theirs. That is enough for me, from this brutal and nasty short life, mighty Prefect.

Sejanus was stunned. At last, fear yields to silent loyalty, in the beat of a true Spartan’s heart.

“By your command, we await the wisdom of Roman grace that guides our fate, Lord Prefect.”

Hearing the names of Antonia and Cnaeus on Sejanus’ deadly lips, awakened the savant within Gaius for war. Strategic solutions are rotational geometries. Nothing about Sejanus had a point. Rome had never seen a savant like Gaius.

Gaius arm-clasped naked arm to naked chest with a pathetic slap. Gaius rages for his battle orica squamata. He has begun counting how many days it will take for him to convince a mad-emperor to order Sejanus publicly strangled and then bounced down the Gemonian Steps of Rome. Gaius cannot do this without Cnaeus.

The smartest man in Rome began thinking to save a future needing saved, his future with beloved Antonia and beloved Cnaeus.

Nothing hides from the geometries always present to his mind’s eye, to him, they are diamonds spinning in the sun, glinting suggestions to uncommon problems. Everything translates into geometry. Without geometry, life has no point.

“I’ll ensure that Cnaeus is never guard to the Vestal harem, Gaius, if that be your wish. Please inform Cnaus of your words to me this day, that you have offered to take his place on the cutting table and that I have accepted.” Sejanus drew breath.

“When that day comes, and it will come young newlywed husband Gaius, know now, that I will provide you a small but beautiful green isle, recently discovered and far from Rome. The three of you will grow old together, in peace.” Sejanus drew breath to comfort two true soldiers of Rome.

“Caellum Insula is unmapped and only recently discovered by Phoenician sailors fleeing a storm. Caellum Insula lies seven days sail west from Fretum Herculeum. Will you be happy there, too live out your days with Antonia, Cnaeus and children?”

“Gratitude, Dominus.”

Gaius had never seen the geometries in his mind’s eye spin so fast.

***0049

FATHER BERNADINE LOWERED the thin book onto his lap. Ancient green eyes gazed from the plane to the blue Atlantic below

“No trouble at all, Father.” The steward disappeared into the galley.

Brian O’Riley returned from the co*ckpit to sit beside Bernadine. “Comfortable, Father?”

“Oh, yes. Lovely flight, quite lovely.”

“Mr. Mullen is looking forward to your arrival.”

“It’ll be grand to meet him.”

“We reach Saratoga in about nine hours. We have a shower and a bed in the rear cabin if you want.”

“I’m fine here, my son, quite fine,” Bernadine smiled.

“How long were you with the Vatican museum?” O’Riley asked, knowing the answer.

“Over sixty years but I remember arriving there as though it were yesterday.“ Time passes with a blink.”

“We were lucky to get you out when we did.”

“Indeed.” Bernadine looked over to O’Riley, renewing a smile.

“Hans Rajunt is not easily outwitted. I do wish I could have seen his face when he discovered my absence.”

O’Riley looked at the book in Bernadine’s lap. “What are you reading?”

“TOMORROW’S MESSIAH . . . written several years ago by a young Peruvian priest, Father Manuel de las Casas.”

“What is it about?”

According to me or him? Bernadine chuckled.

“Can we start with him?” O’Riley smiled.

“Lighting the path with science to come directly before our Savior Jesus, to gaze upon his face.” Bernadine studied O’Riley. He spoke slowly, with hushed reverence.

“You want to look the big guy in the eye?” O’Riley asked.

Bernadine looked aghast at him, in horror, as if the bottom might drop out from under the plane.

O’Riley cleared his throat, “Please forgive me, Father.”

Bernadine patted O’Riley’s forearm gently. “We believe Father Manuel de las Casas to be a prophet, though he insists he is not.”

“Who is we?” O’Riley tried to coax Bernadine about his calls to South America after Rajunt had him confined.

“Archbishop De Gonzales, Father Ignatious and others.”

“Charting the pathway to God must be complicated.” O’Riley tried to sound sincere, knowing Bernadine’s reputation as an eccentric.

Thousands of miles away in Anchorage, Jacob Brigham leaned back in his soft leather chair, closed his eyes, and listened to the conversation occurring seven miles above the cold Atlantic.

In Wyoming, the quietly humming machinery of Socrates monitored both Bernadine and Brigham.

“To find and follow the path of Jesus, simply follow him. Do as he did, follow his footsteps ─ and catch up!” Bernadine explained.

“I don’t understand.”

“Nor could I for quite some time. It sounded too simple to be true, too childlike.” Bernadine glanced down to the book then back to O’Riley.

“I don’t understand,” O’Riley shrugged.

“It is simple, really. Jesus is abundant.”

“How does that make De las Casas a prophet?”

“He’s an idiot, O’Riley!” Brigham blurted aloud.

“De las Casas begins with Jesus protecting the poorest, the most despised, the sick and the imprisoned – those treated the worst among us, those with the least.”

The cabin shook as they passed through an air pocket, as Bernadine began to speak. “While with the rabbis, young Jesus spoke at length with Rabbi Joseph of Arimathea, explaining that he, too, intended to become a rabbi when he became a man.

“‘But there are many kinds of rabbis,’ Joseph replied, ‘some live to force the law upon others in order to gain favor for themselves, while some live to serve others and, by doing so, make good the covenant.’”

“Joseph then asked Jesus, “What kind of rabbi do you intend to become?‟

“Young Jesus looked up and replied, ‘A Canaanite came to a rabbi and said, “I wish to know the law of Judea, but you must tell me while I stand upon one leg.”’ The rabbi told him to be gone, that such a task could not be done, the law was too complex.

“The Canaanite went to many other rabbis but received the same reply. Finally, he encountered a rabbi who instructed him to stand upon one leg. The Canaanite complied and was told, ‘do unto others as you would want them to do to you. That is the law of Judea. The rest is commentary.’

“Jesus looked up to Joseph, ‘That is who I will become.‟“

Bernadine looked at O’Riley as if waiting for him to receive the thunderbolt of understanding.

O’Riley seemed perplexed.

In Anchorage, Brigham drummed his fingers, narrowing his brows. The steward returned with the hot tea for Bernadine.

“Thank you, my son.”

The steward nodded and vanished to the rear of the plane. Bernadine glanced out the window to the ocean below before turning back to O’Riley. Cautiously.

He reached into a pocket, pulling out a thin red book. He handed it to O’Reilly.

O’Reilly stared at it. “How does Tomorrow’s Messiah make him a prophet?”

“Manuel reveals the mathematical genius of Jesus … calculating his own return and how.”

“HERESY!” Brigham screamed into the air.

The steward reappeared. “Mr. O’Riley. You have a call from Jacob Brigham. Where would you like to take it?”

O’Riley rose. “I’ll take it in the rear.” He looked down to Bernadine. “Father, this call may take some time. I apologize that it interrupts our conversation. If you need anything, just let us know.” O’Riley headed to the back of the plane.

“Thank you.” Bernadine adjusted his dentures with one finger and turned back to TOMORROW’S MESSIAH.

O’Riley closed the cabin door behind him and picked up the phone. “Mr. Brigham?”

“Have you learned who Bernadine spoke with in South America when he called from Rome?” Brigham asked.

“Not really. But I suspect he called Archbishop De Gonzales and Father Ignatious.”

“He did. We have their telephone numbers and have confirmed they were home when he called. We’re tracking their calls to other clergy just after Bernadine called them. They are acting quickly and in concert.

“Within one day of Bernadine’s call, De Gonzales and Ignatious placed over a hundred calls throughout South America. The people they called then called others. Their numbers are expanding faster than we can track. See what you can find out and do it quickly.

“We just learned that a rural radio station in eastern Peru reported that people there are reacting to news that the Messiah is returning. At least American national media aren’t picking it up. That’s all I need.” Brigham’s seethed.

“He is interesting and kind.”

“I don’t trust him, he betrayed the Mother Church. Call me when you cross into Wyoming,” Brigham ordered and hung up the phone.

***0050

GÓMEZ CRINGED WHEN the door swung open. Anita stood at the threshold, barely visible in the night. The right side of her small body glowed softly with the light of the distant campfire. “You may speak to one another without punishment,” she announced and shut the flimsy tin door.

The dark hut remained quiet for a moment longer as they listened to her leave.

“Your talk of the new Messiah is heresy,” Gómez hissed at Ignatious.

“Heresy is the way the Society lives while others suffer,” Ignatious replied in the darkness.

Anita returned quietly and slipped silently onto the ground beside the hut, closing her eyes to concentrate on the voices within.

“What are you going to tell the people when he doesn’t materialize?” Gómez asked belligerently.

“He is returning,” Ignatious replied. “And soon.”

“How do you know?” Gómez’s tone shifted.

“I won’t tell you. But I assure you he is coming. You may want to repent your cruelties in his name.”

“Your young heretics are preaching that all across Peru! Why?!”

“Don’t forget Brazil,” Ignatious added.

“We know Archbishop De Gonzales is behind this.”

“Who knows?” Hyndman asked quietly.

“Cardinal Hans Rajunt!” Gómez proclaimed.

“The high priest of the Society should be the first to repent,” Ignatious replied.

“How can you think that?!”

“Are you blind, Gómez?” Ignatious answered. “Rajunt is like De Balaguer, who founded your brutal order while whipping himself daily for hours, for sexual pleasure. Everyone in your order knows it.”

“Blasphemer!” Gómez hissed back in the dark.

“Quiet! You’ll wake Agnus,” Teresa hissed back.

“Father Jose Escriva was a saint,” Gómez snapped at Ignatious.

Ignatious laughed aloud. “You people are intent on trying to make him out to be one. But nothing you do will change the facts.”

“Your fear of devine sex is obvious.”

“You turn your back on tradition and the Mother Church!”

“We’ll see what traditions should be followed when Jesus returns,” Ignatious snapped back. “I doubt that he’ll approve of your tradition of living in comfort, in his name, as thousands of children die daily from war and poverty. I doubt he’ll approve of you people condemning others in his name. When he returns soon, will you be within those separated to the right or the left?”

“Why do you keep saying he is returning?!”

“Because I know he is.”

“When?”

“Within a month.”

“Where will he appear?”

“He’s not going to appear. He is going to be born again.”

“HERESY!”

“Perhaps. Perhaps not.’

“Where is he to be born?” Gómez demanded.

“Lima.”

Anita’s eyes snapped open in the dark.

Gómez’ mind raced. “What would Rajunt do?” he thought to himself.

“Who is his Madonna?”

“I won’t tell you.”

“Why not?”

“You cannot be trusted.”

“You liberation priests are leading the Church to ruin. We will not have it!”

Agnus moaned quietly, as if awakening. Silence settled over the group.

Anita quietly rose. Gómez’ eyes snapped open in the dark as he heard her soft footsteps recede into silence.

***0051

THE ALITALIA JETLINER landed with blazing lights in the pitch darkness at Lima’s Jorge Chavéz airport.

Bishop Cardoso stood nervously in the room where departing passengers were herded after clearing customs. Short and rotund, Cardoso shifted his weight from foot to foot. After a half hour, he spotted Cardinal Rajunt and hurried to him.

“Your Eminence.” Cardoso bowed his head.

“You have arranged suitable quarters for me?” Rajunt asked, towering above Cardoso.

“Of course, Your Eminence. A grand suite at the Miraflores César. Lima’s finest hotel. Quite suitable.”

“Take me there now.”

In the dark of night, a limousine barreled from the airport, turned left onto La Paz and sped along the coast toward Lima’s Miraflores suburb, heading for the hotel.

“What have you learned?” Rajunt asked.

“We still have not located Father De las Casas, Your Eminence.”

“Nor will you. He is in Wyoming, an American state.” He struggled to say Wyoming correctly.

“I will not be here long, but while I’m here I will decide why the heretic priests now preach the coming of Jesus – in the flesh. I intend to stop it!”

“Of course, Your Eminence.”

“What do you know?”

“We suspect it’s Archbishop De Gonzales’ doing.”

“It is.”

“But the return of Jesus excites the people as we’ve never seen before. Our churches are bare. They ignore us and listen to the sermons by De Gonzales’ heretic priests.”

“You’ve not relieved those priests of their duties?” Rajunt snarled.

“Of course, Your Eminence. But they continue as if we have no authority to stop them. They preach from hillsides. Everyone flocks to hear them. It is absolute madness, Your Eminence.”

“It is absolute heresy but not madness, Cardoso.”

“Of course, Your Eminence.”

“I want to speak with Bishop Gómez as soon as possible. Have him return from Iquitos at once.”

Cardoso hesitated, “We have lost contact with Bishop Gómez.”

“Then send someone to find him. I want him to return to Lima immediately.”

“Of course, Your Eminence.”

“If he isn’t here by tomorrow, go to Iquitos to find him yourself. Do you understand me, Cardoso?”

Cardoso swallowed hard. “Of course, Your Eminence.”

***0052

A DEEP VOICE resonated in the darkness. “John.”

John stirred several hundred feet beneath the mountain, his body ached. “Yes, Socrates.”

“You asked that I alert you when Father Bernadine’s plane passes into U.S. airspace. It did so seconds ago.”

“When will they reach Saratoga?”

“In six hours. Refueling is scheduled in New York.”

“Thank you. What time is it?”

“Six a.m.”

“Please have O’Riley and Father Bernadine brought up from the airport. “Wake me at nine.”

“Fine.”

“Thank you, Socrates.”

“My pleasure, John.’

John shut his eyes, letting his mind drift to a rest.

***0053

AN EARLY MORNING breeze drifted across Fremont Lake and into Carlota’s open bedroom door. Carlota, wrapped in a soft white robe, sat watching the lake waiting for the others to awaken. She heard someone on the deck, hoisting herself to her feet.

Michelle stood at the edge of the deck, a cup of coffee at hand. Long hair danced in the wind.

“Good morning.” Carlota called out.

Michelle turned. “Good morning.”

The breeze pressed Carlota’s white robe against her protruding stomach as she gazed out onto the pristine lake below.

“I worry about Father Antonio and Father Manuel.”

“Why?”

“Have you told them?”

“No. Would you like me to now?”

“No, I will, myself. But I worry. Are they still asleep?”

“Yes, high altitude …” Michelle turned toward the house at the sudden ringing of a phone. “… excuse me, Carlota.”

Michelle watched Carlota through a kitchen window, staring across the lake, as she spoke with John.

“Bernadine is arriving at noon,” John explained.

Michelle glanced at the kitchen clock. It was ten o’clock. “Do you want me to tell Carlota?”

“No, I’ll tell her after Father Bernadine and I visit,” John answered. “I’ll inform the Fathers at the same time. They’ll want to see him.”

“Carlota will want to meet him.”

“I’m counting on it to get you four back to the compound. That’s why I invited him over. I know you’re safe there, but I’d still feel better if you were here, with Socrates.”

“Is that Riner in the distance?”

“Yes.”

“You spoke with Bernadine?” Michelle asked.

“Yes, right after O’Riley got him out. They were in Amsterdam waiting for a Bombardier to be flown in from Edinburgh for the transatlantic flight.”

“Is he eager to meet Carlota?”

“Very.”

“What’s Cardinal Rajunt doing?”

“His flight into Lima arrived around midnight last night. Janice McClain is aware.”

“He’s staying in Lima?”

“Yes.”

“Do we know why?”

“He’s looking for Father De las Casas.”

“Is he meeting with Bishop Gómez?”

“I don’t know. Gómez is still supposed to be in Iquitos. But Ray Stauffen has lost track of him.”

“How do you lose track of someone in Iquitos?” Michelle asked.

“I’ll let you ask him. How is Carlota doing?”

“She wants to talk to Antonio and Manuel about Angelica before returning with them to Lima but is concerned how they’ll react.”

“Why does she care?”

“She is honest.”

“Father Manuel may be surprised initially but nothing matters to him but her happiness and that of the Child.

“I will speak with Father Manuel,” Michelle said, turning from the window, casually back toward the living room. Her eyes widened. Antonio stood before her, barefoot and shirtless in his baggy bottoms. Piercing blue eyes fixed to hers.

“John, I have to go,” Michelle caught her breath. “I’ll talk to you later.”

Antonio and Michelle stared at one another as she hung up the phone.

“Good morning.” She could tell by his reaction that he heard everything.

“Good morning.” His head co*cked to the side. “Why is Carlota worried about Father Manuel and me?”

“She has a lover.”

“She has a lover?” Antonio’s eyes widened.

“Yes.”

“I assumed she was a virgin.”

“She may be.” Michelle laughed.

Puzzlement clouded Antonio’s face.

“Her lover is Angelica Montoya, a brilliant banker from Lima. Carlota is quite proud of her.”

Antonio’s puzzlement changed to astonishment. “Her lover is a woman?”

“Yes, a close friend, beautiful and delightful.”

“After meeting Carlota, I would expect nothing less.”

“Does that bother you?”

“Not at all. It surprises me. Father Manuel may feel bothered until he checks himself. Knowing him, he will be relieved that Angelica isn’t a man.” Antonio laughed.

“Carlota is nervous about what you may think of Angelica.”

“All good always, Michelle, don’t worry. I’ll let him know when he wakes.” Antonio spotted the freshly brewed coffee behind Michelle. “Can I get some?” He pointed to the coffee pot.

Michelle poured a cup and handed it to him. She wrapped her fingers over his, slowly releasing the cup. He nervously looked at the lake for a moment.

When he did, her eyes hurriedly roamed every inch. Impossibly lean. Impossibly striated and heavily veined. Olive brown skin. Black hair. Five pairs of abs casually knot and unknot as he walks. His muscular V points beneath the baggy, blue pajama bottoms and the bulge that sways gently, just above his left knee.

She was smiling to him as he turned back. “I’ll visit with Father Manuel. Do you know Angelica?”

“Yes. Very well. She is a good friend. We met several years ago through a boutique investment company that she began.”

Antonio nodded and headed down the hallway toward the bedroom. “We’ll be out soon,” he said

Michelle returned to the deck and Carlota.

Antonio closed the bedroom door. Manuel was still asleep, flat on his stomach.

Letting him sleep, Antonio stepped into the bathroom and stripped. He turned on the shower and lathered two days of beard growth. The shower steamed the room as he brushed his teeth and shaved, occasionally wiping fog from the mirror with the side of his hand.

He tested the shower with his fingers before he stepped in and closed the door behind him. After shampooing, he grabbed the soap and backed under the warm spray. His fingers slid down the ridges of his stomach as he scrubbed himself with the slippery lather.

His thoughts drifted to Michelle’s fingers touching his. His eyes shut as he lathered more slowly. Sudden pounding at the bathroom door refocused him.

“Antonio!” Manuel pounded the door then ran in.

“What?” Antonio yelled from behind the wall of steam.

Manuel straddled the toilet bowl and moaned exaggerated relief. “I hope you don’t mind, Father Antonio.”

Antonio shut off his shower. “Toss me a towel.”

The towel disappeared from the top of the shower door as soon as Manuel tossed it there. He turned to leave, as Antonio stepped from his shower.

“Wait,” Antonio emerged, drying his hair with the towel. “We need to talk, Father Manuel.”

“About what?” Manuel flushed and sighed.

“Carlota.”

“What about her?”

“She has a lover.”

Manuel stared in disbelief. “What?!”

“She has a lover.”

“A lover?” Manuel seemed devastated. “Who is he?”

“Her lover is a woman, not a man, Father Maneul.”

“A woman?”

“Correct. a banker from Lima and a friend of Michelle. She told me that she and Carlota grew up together in the worst slums of Lima. I am eager to meet her. She flies soon to Saratoga, to return Carlota home.”

“She carries the Child. What remains is commentary.”

Antonio nodded agreement and left him to shower.

***0054

A SILVER JET emerged through dense clouds over Saratoga.

From behind the expanse of windows in his study, John watched it descend. “You are arranging for Father Bernadine and Brian O’Riley to be brought to the house?”

“Arrangements are made for Father Bernadine but Mr. Brigham has asked for Mr. O’Riley to continue on to Anchorage, as soon as Father Bernadine disembarks,” Socrates answered.

“Why?”

“Unknown.”

A half hour later, Riner’s security team drove Father Bernadine to the entrance. John was waiting outside.

A security man helped Bernadine out of the Range Rover.

“Father Bernadine.” John extended his right hand.

“Mr. Mullen. What a delight to meet you at last. An absolute delight! How are you, sir?” Bernadine shook John’s hand with both hands. Almost five feet tall, Bernadine looked up to John.

“The pleasure is mine, Father. John, please. How was your flight?”

“Fine, John, quite fine. Please call me Ross.”

“You had a long flight. Would you care to rest before dinner, Ross?” John asked.

“I have eternity to rest,” Bernadine chortled. “For now, there are things you would like to discuss with me.”

“Yes, there are.”

John escorted Bernadine into the mountain and to his study. “Would you like something to drink, Ross?”

“A wee splash of scotch.”

John prepared the drink and handed it to him. “Please sit.” He gestured to the sofa beside his desk and after Bernadine sat, joined him.

“Is our Madonna here?” Bernadine asked after his first swallow of scotch.

“She is about a four hour drive northwest of here. She doesn’t yet know you’re here, nor do Father De Montesinos or Father De las Casas. We can call them tonight. I wanted to speak with you alone, first.”

Bernadine took a sip, “Please tell me more of Carlota Cabral.” Bernadine sat back.

“What would you like to know?” John asked.

“Where is she from?” Bernadine took another sip.

“Lima.”

“Peru is so beautiful but Lima is so dreadful, so much poverty and heartache.”

“Carlota was orphaned as a child. She grew up in the pueblos jóvenes with another street child, Angelica Montoya. They protected one another from the roving gangs of boys and eventually became the best of friends. They have lived together as lovers since. They are their own family.”

“God’s wisdom is unbounded, certainly,” Bernadine smiled knowingly. “Is Angelica here with her?”

“No, She heads a South American banking conglomerate, headquartered in Lima. She is a banker so she’s working.”

“I look forward to meeting her one day then. Can you imagine being married to the new Madonna?” Bernadine’s eyes gazed through space.

John shifted in his seat, pulling one leg over the other. “When Rajunt had you confined to your quarters, you called several people in South America.”

Bernadine was nodding his head. “Yes. Your young Mr. O’Riley has been asking repeatedly who I called.

“Will you tell me?”

“Of course, I called Archbishop De Gonzales, Father Ignatious, and a few others.”

“Why?”

“Do you remember when you asked Archbishop De Gonzales to approach me for Fragment I, the most sacred of the Mother Church’s relics?”

“Of course.”

“Did you know that he told me very early of your plan to clone Jesus from the blood contained in the resins of the wood of the crucifix relic?”

“He told me, of course.”

“Did you ever wonder why I gave you that relic?”

“No. I could only hope that you would.”

“I gave you that relic because I want you to succeed. I will do anything to help you. Think how marvelous it will be for Jesus to walk among us once again. When Brother De Gonzales told me of your plan, I recalled the Ortho-Pahlavi scrolls that I had not thought of in decades.”

His speaking slowed. “For centuries, our scholars have hesitantly dismissed these writings because they foretell what you bring to our world. They seem written in northwestern India during the Lost Years of Jesus. The scrolls speak of a dialogue between a powerful young holy man from distant deserts, whose eyes could glow, and an old shaman.”

“As they ended their visit, the old shaman asked what the young holy man will do after he is executed. The young man answered ‘I will return when my blood shows me a way forward.’”

Bernadine leaned closer. “That prophecy suddenly made sense to me when Brother De Gonzales told me of your plan to clone Jesus.”

Bernadine sat back, crossing himself, rolling his eyes toward the heavens. “The time of the coming is at hand.”

John’s eyes narrowed. “That doesn’t explain why you called De Gonzales, Ignatious, and others after Rajunt confined you.”

“You need to ask?”

John let his question hang in the air.

“Before I gave you Fragment I, De Gonzales and I called Brother Ignatious in Brazil. The three of us have long been close friends, you know.

“We told him of your plan. He asked if we were convinced that you were capable of your vision. When Brother De Gonzales assured him you were, Brother Ignatious insisted we help you.

“And when you told De Gonzales the Madonna had been chosen and she would give birth to our Messiah in South America, he called me and we both called Ignatious to tell him the time was close.

“Ignatious was convinced we should prepare to spread the news throughout South America so the Society could not stop you. When Rajunt confined me, we spread the news.”

“But why? You endangered Carlota and the child when they return to Peru. You accomplished nothing else. You knew we would have enemies and you alerted them. Intentionally or negligently but you alerted them. Why?”

“We prepare the people for His coming, to give them hope.”

“You endanger the child.”

“No, we do not,” Bernadine insisted. “Of course he has many enemies, some admittedly in the Vatican itself. But while you understand His path to be perilous now, it is not. He will unfold through his nature. He brings hope to all.”

“But why alert his enemies? Rajunt is a dangerous and formidable foe,” John said, “and you know it.”

“The priests who follow De Gonzales and Ignatious are calling upon the poor of South America to prepare for his return. It is incidental that his enemies would be alerted. Had there been another way, we would have taken it. But there was none.”

“Well, you certainly succeeded. A rural radio station in Peru reported the people are becoming excited with predictions that the second coming is at hand. If the excitement continues, it’s a matter of time before global news picks it up.”

Bernadine smiled broadly. “Marvelous. I haven’t seen such reports. I did try to call Brother Ignatious to learn how the news is being received, but I haven’t been able to reach him.”

John shifted again in his seat. “But all you have told me doesn’t explain why you needed to concoct a plan to tell everyone in South America that Jesus would soon be born there.”

“You’ve been to South America, John. You need to ask?”

“I’m asking.”

“You’ve seen how the poor are treated. They deserve new hope,” Bernadine said softly. “So we told them.”

John disagreed. “They could have lasted another few months without such hope. They’ve suffered for centuries. You didn’t have to announce it. You had some other motive, Ross. I know you did. Nothing else makes sense. Why did you do it?”

Bernadine became somber. His eyes teared. “When I was young and alone the Church took me in and cared for me.

“Giving you that relic was the hardest thing I have ever done. But I had no choice.”

John studied Bernadine without responding.

Bernadine wiped an eye. “During the Crusades and the Renaissance, the Holy Church, unfortunately, was led by vile popes whose mission was to aggrandize themselves. They created traditions geared to acquire power, not to light the glorious journey to God.

“The Inquisitions, the thousands of people we tortured to death, were a result of those traditions. Do you know we burned whole villages at the stake simply because the people would not accept what we ordered them to believe? Our wholesale slaughter of the gentle Cartesians was unforgivable. They asked only to live their lives in peace. But as dark as our past has been at times, this century marks our greatest shame,” Bernadine paused, “and unless your plan succeeds and Christ returns we are all doomed.”

“I do not understand your sense of urgency.”

Bernadine took a deep breath. “For centuries, our Mother Church taught people hate for those who differ from us or speak other languages, seeking always to diminish the humanity that Jesus fought for.”

“Hitler acquired power simply by taking up where we left off after centuries of preaching hatred of Jewish people as ‘Christ killer.’ We turned our backs in silence as he slaughtered dissenters and then turned to those the Church had long publicly reviled. Our hands drip from the blood and tears of all who perished in World War II.” Bernadine’s voice trembled. “But we have now descended even deeper into Hell.” He stared into space with teary eyes.

John touched Bernadine’s sleeve to comfort him. “How, Ross?”

“The Society controls the Vatican now and drives from the Church anyone who challenges the old ways ─ the ways laid down by the vile Renaissance popes.

“Examine what we’re doing! The self-righteous live in comfort while casting a critical eye at the poor. The Society never wants for food or medicines in a world where defenseless children die needlessly by the tens of thousands each day. Christ will not tolerate this done in his name.”

John listened quietly as Bernadine released his emotions.

“We refuse to learn the lesson of Jesus! We have begun again openly to revile those who differ, to diminish their humanity while urging governments to codify our sense of intolerance. Not only do we condemn those who live beyond the Church but we have displayed a special intolerance for those within with other views, those we call liberation priests.

“Our treatment of women is a disgrace. When Jesus was crucified only women stayed fearlessly beside him. The men scattered like frightened mice and now men declare only they can be priests for they are most like Jesus! What lies. Jesus was no coward.

“But the reaction from the self-righteous will come with bloodletting, I tell you. Those who declare that only they speak for their god and justify their violence by that … the scientists will be in grave danger.

“I can see the bloody hand of that future on the horizon.”

John’s brows furrowed. “I agree. But I still don’t understand why you announced that Jesus was coming. All you did was endanger Carlota and anyone helping her, which includes Michelle.” 

“I thought if those within the Church understood Christ was soon returning, even if unconventionally, they would re-measure their steps. Without knowing that Jesus was returning, they would never question their ways. This was their last chance and, as much as I despise them, they deserve to know. Perhaps I am a fool.”

“Perhaps you are,” John replied, “I suspect they will feel more threat than joy at the prospect of their Savior again walking the earth ─ judging them like they judge others.”

Bernadine looked deep and painfully into John’s eyes.

John took a deep breath. “But perhaps not.” He laid his hand atop Bernadine’s trembling hand. “Perhaps you just need more faith.”

Bernadine looked puzzled in his anguish. “What do you mean?”

“Whether I like it or not, the word has begun to spread that your Jesus is returning. And he is, but not unprotected this time.”

“Right now only Rajunt suspects why. People will necessarily begin to examine their lives when they realize they could encounter Christ in the flesh.”

“There is nothing Rajunt can do to stop that. The moment he understands that, he will become very dangerous.”

“And perhaps you are right, perhaps your god has a plan grander than all of us.”

“My God is not your god?” Bernadine quizzed through his tears.

“No,” John smiled and shook his head.

“I pray for you.”

“I appreciate that.”

“Ross, your Jesus could have no better champion. John reached across to Bernadine and squeezed his hand. “And you and I shall live to see him.”

***0055

ANTONIO AND MANUEL walked out onto the deck. Michelle and Carlota stood at the edge, talking, facing the lake. They could tell they had interrupted.

“Ask Father Manuel, he is an expert.” Michelle answered Carlota as she greeted Antonio and Manuel.

“Ask me what, Holy Mother?”

Carlota reached her hand to Manuel. “I hope to learn something I don’t understand, Father Manuel. Will you help me?”

Manuel lifted his hand to hers. “Through eternity, Holy Mother.”

Carlota turned to Antonio and Michelle. “We are going to walk. May we join you later?”

Antonio nodded as Carlota and Manuel descended the wooden stairs that led from the deck to the rocky shore below. Manuel held her hand firmly so she did not stumble. Michelle and Antonio watched until they disappeared from view and walked back to the house.

“Michelle, Father Bernadine has arrived to the compound and is asking to speak to Father Antonio. Is he available?” Socrates asked unexpectedly.

Antonio jumped in surprise. “He takes some getting used to, doesn’t he?”

Michelle laughed.

“I’m here, Socrates.” Antonio announced into the air.

“Allo?”

“Father Bernadine?”

“Antonio!”

Antonio put his hand over the receiver. “When can we go back to Saratoga?” he whispered to Michelle.

Michelle touched Antonio’s elbow. “If you want, we can have my personal jet flown up from Saratoga immediately and back in a couple hours.”

“Really?” Antonio seemed astonished.

“Of course, Antonio.” Michelle answered then spoke into the air.

“Socrates, can you have my Challenger 3500 flown to Pinedale immediately?”

“Yes.” Socrates paused as he visited with Riner. “Michelle, your jet will arrive to the Pinedale within two hours.”

“Thank you, Socrates.”

“What does Carlota want to learn from Father Manuel?” Antonio asked.

“His understanding of possible contractions and expansions of spacetime curvature asymmetries.”

“Surfing spacetime?” Antonio laughed, then paused. “Father Manuel’s newest theory of GR manipulations Socrates may match him but Manuel’s brain isn’t from earth.” Antonio laughed again. ”How did Carlota ever learn about that?”

“From Angelica, who convinced her to bear the Child. She is a theoretical mathematician.”

“Carlota?!”

“Angelica.”

***0056

BY NOON, RAJUNT had finished Mass at the Church of San Francisco and returned to his suite. He sat at a desk by the balcony, overlooking the city. He could hear ambulantes and see street vendors making their way through narrow winding streets. Some pushed two-wheeled carts and some carried their goods on their backs. Traffic began filling the streets with mechanized life and noise.

But the vision below was vanishing under a heavy sea mist drifting over the city like a shroud. Rajunt turned at a rapping at his door, “Enter.”

Bishop Cardoso stuck his head into the room, “Your Eminence?”

“Come.” Rajunt gestured, but kept watching the mist hide the city from its sounds.

“A dismal city you have here, Cardoso.”

Cardoso looked out over the balcony, “The garúa.”

“The what?” Rajunt’s head turned slowly.

“The garúa, the coastal fog. Soon it will blot out the sun.”

“Your city has an offensive odor.”

“The garúa and traffic fumes,” Cardoso shrugged. “It cannot be helped, Your Eminence. But the garúa has a beauty all its own.”

“I assume you came to inform me that Gómez is en route.”

Cardoso hesitated, one hand squeezing the other.

“I’m sorry Your Eminence. We cannot locate him. He has vanished.”

“Vanished?”

“Yes, Your Eminence. He was supposed to report back two days ago. But no one has heard from him.”

“Find him yourself.”

“But Your Eminence,” Cardoso paused, “I would not know where to start.”

“Where was he last seen, Cardoso?” Rajunt kept his dark eyes on the city below.

“Iquitos.”

“Start there. Be quick about it. If he’s not in Iquitos, expand your search into the jungle churches.”

“But the Sendero are resurging there . . . .” Cardoso swallowed hard.

Rajunt swiveled his head toward Cardoso, with one brow raised, “The what?”

“The Sendero Luminoso, the Shining Path guerrillas.”

“What are you talking about, Cardoso?”

“The Sendero, terrorist guerrillas, are resurging. They are terrible, terrible people. They are said to surround Iquitos. If they encountered Gómez, he is dead and died horribly. They are ruthless and brutal terrorists, killing women and children without hesitation.”

Cardoso shut his eyes, shuddering. “What they do to priests – slowly – is an unspeakable horror, the worst of all torture.”

Cardoso looked irritated, “Gómez should never have gone there. He was a fool.”

“I ordered him there, Cardoso.”

“Of course, Your Eminence. Then he follows God’s will.”

“Go to Iquitos and find him. Now.”

“But the Sendero, Your Eminence,” Cardoso’s voice trailed into a whine.

“Before you go, bring me one of De Gonzales’ priests. I want to inquire about their heretical preachings.”

“They will not come to you, Your Eminence.”

“They will not come to my command?!”

“No, Your Eminence. When you ordered them removed from the Church, you freed them. They will not return. But the most popular priest speaks to the people this afternoon.” Cardoso walked out onto the balcony. “Do you see that ridge over the city, there to the east?”

Rajunt rose from his chair to stand next to Cardoso. “Where?”

Cardoso pointed, “There, just beyond the city’s hub.”

“When will he speak?”

“In a few hours. He speaks there each day at the same time. Just follow the massive crowd and you will hear him.”

“I will be there.” Rajunt turned from the balcony and walked to the double doors of his suite, opening them. “How quickly can you get to Iquitos?”

“You still want me to try to find Gómez?”

Rajunt glared silently at him.

Cardoso bowed his head. “God’s will be done. I can catch a flight out this afternoon. I will be there by nightfall.”

“If I’ve left Lima by the time you return with Gómez, call Cardinal Klodzinski in Rome and inform him. He will contact me.”

“Yes, Your Eminence.” Cardoso said as he began closing the double doors, backing from the room.

“Do not return without Gómez.”

“Of course, Your Eminence.”

“Before you leave, have some clothes sent up to my suite. Peasant clothes.”

“Of course, Your Eminence. They will arrive within the hour. Why do you need them?”

Cardoso’s temerity brought a plastic smile to Rajunt’s lips.

“I need to blend.”

Cardoso nodded.

“What is his name?” Rajunt asked quickly.

“Father Rivera.”

“Old or young?”

“Young.”

Cardoso left and within an hour, peasant clothes arrived to Rajunt’s suite.

Rajunt lifted a dilapidated wool poncho to his shoulders, gazed into the gilded full-length mirror. Within the hour, he strode down the front steps of the Miraflores César, dressed as a peasant. The doorman looked disapprovingly at him.

Rajunt glared back, “Call a taxi.”

The doorman waved a black taxi forward from the line.

After Rajunt’s taxi headed out, Janice McClain appeared from nowhere and approached the same doorman.

“Please call a taxi.” She handed him money.

The doorman smiled broadly, hurriedly waving up the next taxi and opening its door for her.

“Do you see the taxi up ahead?” She asked the driver in Spanish as she slid into the back seat.

“Sí.” He looked back.

“Please follow him.” She handed him money.

***0057

MARÍA DRAPED HER rain cape across a green branch to let it dry. “I want you to go to Lima as quickly as you can.” She wore a brown sleeveless t-shirt and baggy khaki trousers.

Anita stood attentively.

“Go to the Museum of the Spanish Inquisition. Find it at the corner of Junín and Abancay. Go in as a tourist. Find an attendant wearing a pink scarf around her neck.” María stripped off her t-shirt to sun her breasts. “Tell her you want to see the Tupac Amaru exhibit. She will tell you there is no such exhibit. Insist there is. She will then know I sent you.”

Anita nodded.

“Tell her what you told me last night and what is happening in Iquitos. Tell her to kidnap a bishop from Lima and any others she can collect on the way ─ and bring them to me. I must find this new Madonna. The priests must know,” she paused. “I will persuade some to tell us where she is.”

“How will I get to Lima?” Anita looked bewildered.

“Remember the old woman in the white dress who camps outside the church?”

Anita nodded.

“Tell her I want you to fly to Lima. She’ll arrange a pilot and give you money. Once you’re there, Marta will give you the money to fly back.”

“Who is Marta?” Anita asked.

“The attendant at the Inquisition museum.”

“Go now.” María watched Anita head into the jungle then called to another Sendero, “Bring me the new priest.”

Gómez was naked and trembling when they pulled him from the hut. María nodded to the others. “Stake him.” Within minutes, he was staked spread-eagle on the ground. The sun directly overhead baked the clearing. Flies buzzed about his face.

“What do you want from me?” Gómez cried out.

María glared down at him. “The next time you speak without being told, I’ll remove your other ear, priest.”

Gómez remained silent.

“Do you understand?”

Gómez nodded, trembling.

“Bring me the honey.” María ordered to the nearest Sendero, turning back to Gómez. “What do you know of this new Madonna?”.

Gómez stared up, eyes filled with dread. “Nothing.” His voice trembled.

The Sendero returned with a jar of honey. María took it and walked to the edge of the compound. She poured a thin trail of honey leading from the edge of the jungle. Gómez felt the warm, thick fluid flow into his wounded ear. She let the last of it drip across his face.

“We’ll see if your memory improves when the army ants arrive.”

“No!” Gómez cried.

“I warned you.” María pulled her machete from the sheath on her hip and kneeled beside him, laying her razor-edged machete atop his remaining ear. His scream instantly silenced those inside the humid darkness of the tin hut.

***0058

RAJUNT’S TAXI FOLLOWED the broken road that paralleled the Rimac river and the rail line toward the foothills overlooking Lima.

“Drive faster!” Rajunt snapped in English.

“No, Señor. The crowds are too thick. They come to hear Father Rivera tell of the Messiah’s return!”

“The man is a heretic.”

The driver shook his head vigorously. “No, Señor. Father Rivera is a good man, chosen by God.”

“The man is a heretic. I order that you not listen to him.”

The driver glared at Rajunt in the dusty rear view mirror. Rajunt was oblivious, furious with the crowds.

The cab inched to a stop, the driver waving several families across the road. They waved back their thanks. Traffic stopped both ways as people surged forward.

“Clear a path. Use your horn, driver.”

“No, Señor.”

Rajunt sat in the back fuming, suddenly itching from his coarse wool clothes and overheating in the cab.

“How much further?”

“Not far, you can see the top of the hill from here,” the taxi driver stuck a short plumb arm out the window, pointing. Rajunt leaned forward.

“Stop here. I’ll get there faster if I walk.” Rajunt huffed and opened the door, pulling several intis from his tiny coin purse.

The driver looked back, “No intis. Five dollars, please.”

“That is robbery.” Rajunt snapped, opening his purse for American dollars. “Here is five dollars. I’ll need a ride back in an hour. How much to wait?”

“Fifty dollars.”

“Fifty dollars?! That is robbery!”

The driver shrugged. “If you want me to stay, fifty dollars. You will walk back otherwise. No taxis come out this far.”

Rajunt pulled a twenty-dollar bill and threw it down beside the driver. “Now wait until I return.”

The driver watched Rajunt disappear into the crowd. Rajunt did not see him smile, turn the cab and drive away.

***0059

MICHELLE STOOD BESIDE Carlota as the Challenger 3500 touched down at the Pinedale airport, walled to the east by the Wind River Mountains. As the plane rolled to a stop next to them, Antonio lifted his and Michelle’s luggage as Manuel struggled with his and Carlota’s.

As they prepared to enter the plane, Carlota stopped. She turned and looked east to the Wind River Mountains, still snow-capped from the late spring.

“What’s wrong?” Manuel whispered.

Soft brown eyes studied the towering horizon. “I just want to remember this.”

“Perhaps you will return someday.”

“Perhaps,” Carlota sensed what awaits her.

Michelle was the last in, closing the door behind her. The others made their way to the back of the cabin.

Carlota lowered herself into a wide plush seat. Antonio sat beside her. Michelle and Manuel sat in the seats facing her. Manuel leaned in to help Carlota struggling to buckle her seat belt, beneath her swollen stomach.

“Is everyone ready, Ms. Cumberland?” the pilot asked, looking back. “This runway is short so our takeoff will be fast.”

“Thank you.”

When the Challenger 3500 reached the end of the short runway, it pivoted, and held its position for several seconds. The engines roared to life, rocking them down the runway. Within seconds, the jet climbed effortlessly into a cloudless blue sky. Pinedale became smaller and smaller, finally vanishing.

***0060

A SMALL MAN, dressed as those around him, stood at the crest of the hill, surrounded by an ocean of people. Their numbers swelled as others surged up the hill in waves.

Rajunt pushed through the tightly packed crowd, forcing his way to the crest. He could hear a man speaking but was not close enough to hear the words. He pushed harder.

“. . . who from on high will bring the rising sun to visit us again, to give light to us who live in darkness and the shadow of death, and to guide our feet into the way of peace.”

“But when will he return to save us?” someone cried from the crowd.

“Soon,” Father Rivera answered loudly, stretching out his arms. “Prepare now for his coming.”

“How soon?” someone yelled.

“He will be born before the winter snows cover the land. Prepare for his coming and be blessed.”

“How? What should we do?” several asked.

“Do as he asked of you … treat others as you would be treated. Ease the suffering of others by replacing it with your own. As you do to others, you do to Jesus.”

“Is that all?” an old woman asked.

“It is enough to fill your heart with joy and your joy shall call him forth.”

“What will he look like? How will we know him?”

“He comes for you, how would you not know him?”

“Where will he be born?” came another shout.

“Near here, in Lima.”

The hillside grew silent.

“He has heard the soft cries of your children who hunger and perish in the cold dark of night. He has heard your prayers,” Father Rivera said. “Soon he comes to stand between you and your oppressors. We shall all with him go up the mountain together.”

Rajunt lunged forward through the crowd. Rivera stopped speaking, staring at him.

“You are a heretic who leads the people to damnation. I order you to stop.” Rajunt threw off the poncho and stood like a king, “I am Cardinal Rajunt!”

A hush drew again across the crowd, waiting for Rivera’s reply.

“Look upon this man with great pity.” Rivera shouted to the crowd.

He lowered his voice and turned to Rajunt. “Alas for you who have your fill now, you shall go hungry. Alas for you who laugh now, you shall mourn and weep.”

“Heresy!” Rajunt hissed and began withdrawing back through the crowds, back to his taxi.

***0061

BERNADINE AND JOHN stood together outside the compound as the sapphire Range Rover crested the gravel driveway.

Antonio was first to pile out, followed by Manuel. They hurried to Bernadine, who hugged them.

“My boys,” Bernadine would not let go, “my boys.”

“Carlota . . . ,” John paused, “Father Bernadine.”

Bernadine turned to Carlota, wedging his right hand into Manuel’s to steady himself. He lowered himself onto his knees before Carlota. “Holy Mother.”

Carlota raised him up with both hands, “It is my honor to know you, Father. I cannot thank you enough.”

Michelle remained in the background until Bernadine spotted her. “You are Michelle?”

She stepped forward, extending a hand. “Yes, Father. Michelle Cumberland.”

He nodded and smiled, shaking her hand.

“Shall we?” John gestured toward the entrance.

Everyone was speaking at once as they entered the mountain.

“How did you get out of Rome?” Manuel quizzed. “We heard Rajunt had you confined.”

“He thought he did but your kind Mr. Brian O’Riley brought me out. Lovely lad. Resourceful to a virtue. Have you met him?”

“No.” Manuel shook his head.

“He works for you?” Antonio asked John, who nodded.

“Father Bernadine would like us all to dine together tonight.” John asked.

Bernadine nodded eagerly, “Very much.”

John turned to Michelle, “Do you need to freshen up first?”

“Please.”

“We want to talk with Father Bernadine until it’s time to eat,” Manuel said.

“So do I,” Carlota added quickly.

“I’ll be ready in an hour.” Michelle turned back to John, “I will meet you in the dining room at seven.” She headed down the hallway, toward the elevator, as the others resumed talking.

The elevator doors closed behind her. The elevator began its descent into the heart of the mountain.

“Good evening, Socrates.”

“Good evening, Michelle.”

“How is John?”

“As expected, but he is holding up well.”

“How are his symptoms?”

“Stable, but unpredictable. Although he has not complained, I detect a constantly elevated temperature and his energy levels appear to be declining rapidly.”

“Anything from SYNGENTEC?”

“Nothing to help John.”

“Nothing?”

“Nothing. If he could live another year, a solution would be available.”

“When will the rapid deterioration begin?” Michelle asked, not wanting the answer.

“Soon.”

The elevator stopped. Its double doors snapped open and she headed down the hallway.

The doors to her suite opened at her approach, then closed behind her. “Socrates, prepare my shower, please,” Michelle said as she pulled off her red windbreaker. The steam and the sound of running water drifted into the room as she peeled off the rest of her clothes and walked naked to the shower.

“Did O’Riley come in with Bernadine?” She stepped under the heavy warm spray, shaking her long hair behind her shoulders as it wetted.

“Yes.”

“Where is he?”

“Jacob Brigham asked him to continue on to meet him in Anchorage.”

“Why?”

“Unknown.”

“Doesn’t make sense.”

Socrates did not respond.

“Soap, please.”

Within seconds, the spray turned soapy. Rich suds bubbled and billowed across Michelle’s powerful torso. She lathered her breasts and stomach slowly, imagining Antonio beside her, gently lathering his belly as he towered beside her. Her thoughts drifted to fantasy.

“Did you enjoy your time at the lake?” Socrates asked.

The question pulled her back to reality. “Yes. I think it did Carlota good. Rinse, please. She seemed to enjoy herself.”

Michelle faced into the spray, relaxing for several moments before she pulled back. “End shower.”

She grabbed a towel from the wall. “How is the South American situation?”

“Father Bernadine succeeded in spreading the word that Jesus soon returns – to the people in Peru and Brazil. It is beginning to pick up local media coverage.”

“That’s unfortunate.” Michelle towel dried her long hair.

Socrates remained silent.

When she finished, she returned the towel to its rack and walked to her bedroom.

She pulled a black, silk gown from the closet, slipping it over her naked frame. The gown covered her shoulders but revealed half her chest. Its hem touched the floor. She pulled her blond hair out from under the fabric, shaking it free to cascade down her back. “Unlock the jewelry cabinet, please Socrates.”

When Michelle entered the dining room, a flawless ten-carat cushion-cut diamond sparkled on her lightly freckled chest, nestled deep in her upper cleavage.

Antonio jumped from his chair. “You are beautiful,” he whispered and escorted her to the table.

Carlota smiled at Michelle. “Please sit by me.”

“Of course.” Michelle returned the smile and looked around the table. “I hope I didn’t keep you waiting.”

“Not at all, my dear. Not at all,” Bernadine spoke gently, turning to Carlota, “You are from Lima?”

“Yes, well, outside Lima ─ near Cajamarquilla.”

“How long have you been away?”

“Eight months.”

“And you want to return there for the child to be born?”

“I will return to the pueblos jóvenes where I grew up, just outside Lima.”

“Why there, if I may ask?” Bernadine asked.

“They are my people.”

Bernadine nodded. “When will you return?”

“Within a week, hopefully. I miss Lima.”

“You miss Angelica?” Bernadine quizzed.

“Yes.”

“She is very lucky,” Bernadine answered.

Carlota smiled and laughed softly. “As am I.”

“You are blessed, my child.” Bernadine sipped his wine. “Who returns to Peru with you?”

“Father Manuel and me,” Antonio answered for her.

“As am I,” Michelle announced.

John’s eyes widened as he looked at her.

“May I return with you, as well?” Bernadine asked.

Carlota smiled. “I would love that, Father.’

John coughed suddenly.

***0062

BEADS OF SWEAT gathered on Gómez’ forehead in the darkness. He trembled hard. His bloody left ear lay on the ground beside his head. His lips were dry and cracked. Tiny beetles crawled across his face, feeding on the honey.

Overhead, unseen night clouds drifted above the trees, blotting out the stars. The night was pitch black. Heat and humidity choked the jungle air.

María sat cross-legged beside his head, talking to him.

“Do you wonder how soon before the army ant scouts follow the honey trail out of the jungle?” María asked softly.

The hut was ten yards behind her. The campfire, twenty yards beyond Gómez’ bare feet, dimly lit her face. Other Sendero sat around the distant campfire, talking.

She flamed a butane lighter to inspect the honey trail leading from the jungle to the wound where his ear had been. “I see a few ants,” she whispered. “Scouts.”

Gómez remained silent but swallowed hard, closing his eyes.

“Who is the mother of your new Jesus?”

“Let me go. I know nothing,” he gasped.

“Pity. If you did, you might live longer.”

“But they wouldn’t tell me anything.”

“Who wouldn’t?”

Gómez opened his eyes in the darkness, staring up to her as if he did not understand.

“Which one wouldn’t tell you anything?” María repeated. “Which one of the priests inside the hut knows?”

Gómez closed his eyes, realizing what he had done. “I refuse to tell you.”

María smiled in the darkness.

“Then the ants will feast on your brain tonight.” She shrugged and poked into his wound with a twig, clearing the blood clots. “We must make sure they have plenty of room to crawl in.”

She flicked her lighter above the thin honey trail again. “The scouts are heading back to their army. You might want to tell me. This will be painful and slow, priest.”

Gómez rolled his head from side-to-side, crying, “No, no.”

“Yes. Yes,” she laughed.

“I know nothing of the new Madonna.”

“But someone in the hut knows. Which one?”

Inside the hut, Sister Teresa pressed her ear against the tin to listen.

“Can you hear them?” Hyndman whispered.

“No. I can hear her talking but can’t tell what Bishop Gómez is saying.” Teresa whispered.

“He’s telling her anything he knows to save himself, that’s certain.” Ignatious huffed.

“Which one knows?” María asked again.

“I will not tell you.”

“Why not?”

“You would hurt him.”

“Him? Not a nun … a priest.”

Gómez bit down on his lip.

María drew close to his face. “You’re all going to die, priest. The only question for me is how painful I make each of your deaths. Tell me which one!”

Gómez could feel her warm breath on his cheek and turned his head away.

“May God forgive you.”

“All in good time, priest. Tell me, which one knows of the new Madonna?”

Gómez held his silence.

“What do you know of her?”

“Nothing, I tell you.”

“Where did you come from?” she asked casually.

“Lima.”

“What were you doing here?”

“Looking for a priest.”

“Did you find him?”

“No.”

“Why were you looking for him?” María positioned her head just above his, studying his face as she questioned him.

“I was ordered to.”

“Who ordered you?”

“I will not tell you.”

“This priest must be important, who is he?”

“Why do you hate us so?” Gómez choked.

“If you were me, you would hate you.” María spit the answer in his face. “I am Incan.”

Gómez studied her face in the dim glow of the distant dancing campfire. Her eyes were dark and her cheekbones high. Her face glowed against the distant flames, framed by darkness. She was a striking woman.

“No, you are not.”

A look of pain flashed across María’s face and her palm crashed across his cheek. “Shut up, priest!” Her head bobbed lightly

***0063

A SIX-YEAR OLD María gazes up to her mother with a bright smile and angelic face. She proudly lifts a pan of bread, “Look, Mama.”

Her mother smiles at the misshaped loaves.

Outside, the squeals of her brothers and sisters playing tag cheer the air with laughter.

“María, what beautiful bread you bake!” her mother exclaims, then suddenly peers out the kitchen window.

Three federale trucks pull into the dusty farmyard. Fear seizes her face.

María’s brothers and sisters stop their play as soldiers pile from the trucks.

“Hide, María!” her mother snatches María by the collar and shoves her into the cabinet beneath the badly stained sink. She kneels to whisper, “Make no sound, María. Federales.”

Fear coats María’s young face. She is wide-eyed. “I can help, Mama. I can help.”

“Little angel, please do as I say. Hide and make no sound unless I come for you. Do you understand?” her mother whispers forcefully. “No matter what, do not come out from hiding until I call you.”

María nods slowly. Her mother closes the little cabinet door, entombing María in darkness, as María softly repeats herself. “I can help, Mama. I can help.”

María sits with thin legs crunched against her chest. She makes no sound. Breathing is difficult. She listens as her mother leaves the shack.

“Where is your husband?” María hears a federale soldier yell at her mother.

“He is gone.”

“I said, where is the professor?” a soldier demands. The sharp recoil of slapping carries into the dark cabinet. María shakes with fear but crawls out from the cabinet and peeks from the kitchen window.

“He is gone, I tell you.”

A tall soldier backhands her, knocking her to the ground.

María trembles, crying softly, whispering “Please no. Please no.”

“Tell me, where is your husband?”

“I don’t know,” her mother cries.

“I will shoot your children one by one until you tell us!” The tall soldier grabs María’s oldest brother roughly by the arm, draws his pistol and shoves the barrel against his temple. The boy looks at her in terror.

“Where is he?” the soldier screams.

“Please no! Please no! I don’t know where he is! I would tell you!” her mother cries.

“Please no!” María’ tightly squeezes her small hands, trying to hold to her brother.

BLAM!

Her brother crumbles lifelessly to the ground.

“NO!!” Her mother screams and fights to reach her child but another soldier holds her back, laughing, kicking his body.

“I said, where is he?!” the tall soldier grabs her oldest sister and shoves the pistol barrel against her head.

“Please no! Please! I beg you in the name of Jesus! Please don’t hurt my babies! I don’t know where he is!”

“Please no!” María’ tightly squeezes her small hands.

BLAM!

Her sister falls beside her brother.

Other soldiers drag her younger sister and brother to the tall soldier. “NO!! NO!! Kill me! Not my babies! I beg you! I beg you! Please! They are children, let them live!”

“One last time, where is your husband?!” the tall soldier screams.

“I would tell you if …” her mother screams.

“Please no!” María’ tightly squeezes her small hands.

BLAM!

BLAM!

“NO!! NO!! You killed my babies!” Her mother collapses to the ground weeping.

The tall soldier puts his pistol to the back of her head.

“Captain. We want a little, first. She’s fine looking.” One soldier rubs his crotch invitingly to her.

The tall soldier pauses, holsters his pistol, hauls her over a barrel and drops his pants, laughing. “You’re right. Who’s next?”

She fought hard, clawing his face and chest, she faced the house. The others gather, cheering him on. The last finished and raised her onto her knees in front of his.

“Abre la boca!” The tall soldier screams at her mother.

When she sees María peeking from the kitchen window, her eyes widen and she mouthed, “Hide María! Hide!” Then she obeys.

As a still warm barrel slides between split and bleeding lips, María flees the kitchen window and tightly stuffs back into the cabinet beneath the sink, holding the rusty metal doors together.

BLAM!

The soldiers enter the house, braying.

“She was telling the truth. No one is here!” one brays.

“Burn it down,” another brays.

“Bring me gasoline.”

Invisible under the kitchen sink, María trembles at their words. When sounds of truck engines are replaced by the crackling of the flames, as she crawls into view, wide brown eyes looking about, terrified. Flames rage and lick at her legs as she runs from the shack.

“Mama! Mama! Mama!” Blinded by tears, María stumbles over what remains of her mother’s head, rolling onto her young brother, missing half his head. She sits up and stares aghast at her hands and arms, covered in their blood. She cradles what remains of her youngest brother’s head, sobbing and sobbing. She gently returns it to the ground and crawls toward her mother.

“Mama! Mama!”

Her crawl through the dirt stops the instant she sees a crucifix, torn from the last man, clutched by her mother’s bloodied fingers. She stares silently at it, waiting for her father to return home.

At nightfall, María glances up at the sound of approaching trucks. She sees a distant shadow rush toward her. The shadow became an old woman, in a white dress, with missing teeth.

The woman extends her hand, “Quickly child, they return.”

***0064

THE SLAP RESOUNDED across the clearing. A large Sendero left the campfire and walked over to them, holding a hissing lantern above his head. He lowered it to the ground, eyeballing the first ants at the thin line of honey that trailed from the jungle’s dark edge and oto Gómez’s head. His face glistened with honey. 

“María, the ants come. You must not sit there when they begin to swarm,” he said in a deep voice as he reached out his hand and pulled her from the ground.

María wrapped an arm around his waist, looking down to Gómez. “One last chance, priest. Which priest knows?”

Gómez closed his eyes and turned away.

María laid her head against the large Sendero’s shoulder, resting her hand on his muscled stomach. “Think of me, priest, as the ants tunnel into your ear and feed on your brain. I’ll be listening to you scream.” She slowly slipping her hand down the front of the man’s pants, smiling at Gómez.

The Sendero smiled at Gómez.

Suddenly, Gómez felt ants crawling onto his face. The reality hit. “No!” he screamed.

“Yes.” María smiled down as Gómez’ body began convulsing in a futile effort to throw the ants off his face.

“Come Fëdor.” María took the young soldier by the hand.

As Gómez screamed, she led Fëdor to the edge of the compound, hidden by shadows. Sendero eating around the campfire ignored both.

In the shadows at the far end of the clearing, María tossed a poncho onto the ground.

“Strip naked.”

Fëdor obeyed.

“Stand motionless.” Her head bobbed lightly.

Fëdor did not twitch a muscle, as she slowly circled him, as if buying a mule. She patted his butt to signal he had permission to move. Fëdor excited to bloom.

“I like you stiff Fëdor and stay stiff while he screams for us.” She patted his butt in approval and ordered him onto the poncho, as Gómez began screaming.

She smiled then down to the excited, naked soldier at her feet. He lifted his hand happily to hers. She took it and settled beside him.

Inside the hut, Sister Teresa covered her ears to block out Gómez’ increasing screams. Sister Agnus prayed for him.

Around the campfire, Sendero talk over the screams, knowing they would not soon end.

In the shadows, away from the campfire, María straddled Fëdor, grabbing his throat to hurry his pace. As he quickened, she stared up at the night sky until Gómez screams drowned out her mother’s cries.

***0065

BISHOP CARDOSO WALKED out of the Iquitos airport, carrying one bag. A two-passenger motorized rickshaw pulled up to the curb.

“Where you go?” a driver asked in Spanish.

“I need to find the parish church,” Cardoso replied in Spanish. “Do you know where it is?”

The man nodded and Cardoso climbed in, throwing his bag beside him.

Cardoso assumed he was getting the scenic tour as they motored down Malecón Tarapaca, past the old 1890s rubber boom mansions with elaborate ironwork and azulejos tiles, and turned onto Lores street. They twice passed the Varig Airline office and finally stopped in front of a white stucco church, with a three-story bell tower rising above the town’s thatched huts.

Cardoso tipped the driver generously.

“Gracias.”

“What corner is this?” Cardoso asked, trying to get his bearings. “Putumayo and Arica,” the driver answered and motored away. Cardoso glanced at the old woman in the white dress sitting outside the church as he entered. He explored the church for five minutes before coming back out, convinced no one was around.

He walked over to the old woman. “Excuse me.”

She looked up at him. Several front teeth were missing.

“Do you know the parish priest?” he asked in Spanish.

She eyed his bishop’s garments and nodded.

“Can you tell me where he is?”

“I can take you to him. He is with a priest from Lima.” Her voice rasped.

“He is? That’s who I need to see! Will you take me to him?”

“Si.” The old woman held out her hand for money. Cardoso filled her palm.

She looked at the money and shook her hand for more. He dropped more into her dark palm.

She rose slowly. “We have far to walk.”

“That’s fine. You lead and I’ll follow.”

The old woman headed along Putamayo Street toward the jungle, away from the Amazon. Cardoso tried to walk beside her.“

What is your name?” She did not answer. Cardoso looked up to the sky. Dusk was settling in. “Will we get there by dark?” he asked the old woman.

“No,” she answered without looking at him. Cardoso hesitated but continued on.

After the two crossed Tacna Street, Ray Stauffen emerged from the Plaza de Armas, across from the church. Felipe, a small Indian boy, walked beside him. Felipe wore thin sandals and baggy cotton trousers hitched up high on his brown stomach.

Stauffen and Felipe stayed several blocks behind them. When the old woman and Cardoso reached the edge of town and headed into the jungle, Felipe motioned for Stauffen to stop. Felipe followed them in. After ten minutes, he reappeared at the jungle’s edge, motioning Stauffen in.

***0066

SO THE PRIEST tosses the money into the air, announcing “God gets what he keeps!‟ Bernadine finished his joke, his shoulders bouncing with laughter.

The others smiled politely when the dining room lights dimmed for an instant.

John rose, glancing to Michelle. Both knew Socrates signaled an emergency.

“What was that?” Bernadine asked as he held onto Manuel’s sleeve, his shoulders still bouncing with laughter.

“Someone wants to speak to me. Will you please excuse me?” John quickly dropped his napkin onto his chair. John did not speak until he entered his study and the door sealed behind him.

“What’s wrong, Socrates?”

“A Peruvian military surveillance team near Puca Urco, along the Putumayo River, transmitted a coded message to Lima a half hour ago.

“The scouting team had been searching for the new Sendero and stumbled across twenty bodies in the jungle, mostly Europeans.

“Lima replied that they were the Universal Relief group trying to deliver antibiotics to a cholera area. Lima transmitted the twenty-two names of those in the group and requested an accounting of the bodies.

“The surveillance team has reported back that everyone was accounted for except a Father Iam Ignatious from Boa Vista, Brazil, and Bishop Samuel Hyndman from Canada. They are presumed captured by these Sendero or dead.”

John walked to the window and stared out to the night valley. Saratoga glistened below.

“Will you inform Father Bernadine and Father De Montesinos?” Socrates asked.

“Yes.” John answered, staring out the window.

John returned to the dining room.

Michelle read his face. “John, what happened?”

The table hushed. All eyes were on John.

“I have horrible news. Father Ignatious may be dead or, worse, has been captured by the Sendero Luminoso.”

The wine glass in Antonio’s hand slipped from between his fingers and crashed onto the glass tabletop, shattering across the table.

Red wine splashed across Carlota and Manuel.

***0067

THE DOORMAN AT the Miraflores César stepped forward to block the tall peasant from entering the hotel. As Rajunt’s eyes and nostrils flared, the doorman stepped back.

It was dusk as Rajunt entered the lobby. People stared as he stormed to his room, finishing his 17-kilometer walk from the hills east of Lima.

He had walked all the way because he was penniless after his purse had been lifted as he yelled at Father Rivera. He had limped most of the way because his feet were covered with blisters from the tight shoes Cardoso had provided. His face was black with soot and caked with diesel fumes from walking beside the road. One truck had almost hit him.

Rajunt was in no mood for polite conversation when he closed the doors to his suite, leaning against them. After a moment, he walked to his desk and picked up the phone.

His first call was to the front desk. “This is Cardinal Rajunt. Send up food and wine.” He hung up without waiting for an answer.

His second call was to Rome. “Get Cardinal Klodzinski on the phone.” Several seconds passed as someone explained it was three a.m. The cardinal was sleeping.

“I am Cardinal Rajunt! Wake him! Have him call me at once.” Rajunt slammed the phone into its cradle.

Rajunt bathed, furiously scrubbing the oily diesel fumes from his face and the grime from his body. When he emerged from the bathroom, he had replaced the horrible peasant clothes with a long, black silk robe. He walked barefoot because of his blisters.

He sat at his desk until dinner arrived. Cardinal Klodzinski’s call came as he was eating.

“Have you found the heretic De las Casas? Is he involved with the disappearance of Fragment I?” Klodzinski asked anxiously.

“That,” Rajunt said coldly, “is now the least of our problems.”

Klodzinski listened.

“Do you recall Bishop Cardoso telling you of priests preaching the return of Jesus, in the flesh?”

“Of course.”

“The situation is unimaginable.”

“Did not Bishop Cardoso order them to cease?”

“They aren’t listening to us. It’s De Gonzales’ priests.”

“What’s happening?”

“You should see it, Klodzinski. The churches are bare. Pews empty. The people believe the ravings of De Gonzales’ renegade priests.”

“But they will be proven wrong and the people will return to the Mother Church.” Klodzinski answered.

“They may be proven right.”

Klodzinski froze in his chair on the other side of the Atlantic. “How can they be right?”

“Have you spoken with Semani?” Rajunt asked.

“The head of the Gendarmerie? No, I rarely see him.”

“I spoke with him during my flight over. Bernadine was taken out of the Vatican by one of John Mullen’s people, from under his nose.”

“The secretive American billionaire?”

“He is a trillionaire, Klodzinski who owns a genetic engineering company called SYNGENTEC. I am now convinced that Bernadine gave Mullen Fragment I.”

Rajunt waited for Klodzinski to make the connection. The line remained silent.

“Mullen somehow had our Savior’s blood extracted from the Holy Cross.”

Klodzinski still made no reply.

“Mullen cloned Jesus, Klodzinski!!”

“Mother of God! What are we to do?” Klodzinski whispered.

“I am unsure. De las Casas is involved somehow. I just have not figured out how. But I will.” Rajunt closed his eyes as he continued.

“I am convinced the cells from Fragment I were extracted and then cloned by SYNGENTEC and eventually implanted into a woman. The heretics are predicting the Messiah’s birth near Lima, before the snows fall. I have no doubt the Messiah they are predicting is what Mullen had cloned.”

“Jesus is to be reborn in Lima?”

“A clone of Jesus is not Jesus, Klodzinski! It’s a clone, a thing and an anathema to God,” Rajunt’s voice became shrill, at a higher octave suddenly.

“How do we know that the cloned Jesus is not the Messiah, that this is not part of His holy plan?” Klodzinski asked cautiously. “God guides with silent hand. We can never know God’s mind. No one can.”

“This is not the fulfillment of prophecy, Klodzinski!” Rajunt shrieked into the phone, wild-eyed

Klodzinski recalled the old scrolls from northwest India. “It could be. Remember the Ortho-Pahlavi Scrolls?”

“Are you questioning me?” Rajunt’s face became crimson, the veins along his temples pulsing noticeably.

“If this is His will, we must help his new Madonna,” Klodzinski insisted.

“Do not question me!” Rajunt’s voice exploded with fury. “I cannot stop the people but I will crush their dream and end this heresy. Until I decide what to do, you are to say nothing about this to anyone.”

Klodzinski remained silent.

“Especially the Holy Father. Do you understand?” Rajunt asked.

“Yes.”

Rajunt slammed down the phone and pushed away his meal. He rose from his chair and walked out onto the balcony overlooking the night- lights of Lima. He stood motionless and stared into space, his dark eyes unblinking.

The cardinal began thinking.

***0068

ANTONIO STUFFED ESSENTIALS into his carry bag.

Michelle stood beside him. “How can I help you?”

Antonio stopped and shook his head. “How fast can you get me into Iquitos? That’s the nearest airport to Puca Urco.” Antonio stopped suddenly. “What am I thinking? I don’t have money! I can’t get to Puca Urco from Iquitos unless the Church authorizes the expense.”

“Trust me, Antonio. Money is not a problem,” Michelle said.

“I can’t take your money, Michelle.” Antonio shook his head, his eyes brimming with tears of frustration. “I took a vow of poverty.”

“I didn’t.”

“I just can’t, Michelle.”

“If I were in your shoes and you had billions at your fingertips, would you insist that I take the money?” she asked, knowing the answer.

“Of course, but ─”

“ Don’t talk of money, just accept it. I spoke with John. Together with you, we will find your friend.”

“He isn’t just a friend, Michelle. He raised me when I was young. He made sure I was fed and clothed. He made sure I was educated. I love him as a father, as you love John.”

“I know that.” Michelle grabbed his forearm. “I called the hangar. The XRS you came up on is fueled and standing by. You can be airborne in half an hour. The crew will have you in Iquitos by morning. By then, I will have a helicopter standing by to take you to Puca Urco.” Michelle spoke quickly. “Socrates, is there cash on board that plane?”

“Yes. Two hundred and fifty thousand U.S. dollars.”

“Make it available to Father Antonio.”

“Of course.”

Antonio and Michelle stopped talking when Manuel entered the room. “Will you stay here with Carlota and Father Bernadine?” Antonio asked Manuel as he picked up his bag.

Manuel looked stern. “You cannot go, Antonio. If you do, you will violate your promise to God. You promised to stay with Carlota until after the child is born. Why are you breaking your vow, now?”

This new reality of his promise hit Antonio. His face paled and his head tilted back. He stared at the ceiling for several seconds. When he righted his head, his eyes blazed with agony. “You are right.”

Michelle’s face hardened. “Are you out of your mind, Manuel?”

He glared back at her, silently.

Michelle left the room without a word and returned several minutes later with Carlota, in tow. Manuel was consoling Antonio as they entered.

“Michelle tells me you have decided to remain with me rather than return to South America to save Father Ignatious,” Carlota said to Antonio.

Manuel glared at Michelle, coldly.

“I can’t help him,” Antonio bowed his head, slowly shaking it, almost sobbing.

“Because you vowed to stay with me until my child is born?” Carlota asked.

“Yes,” he nodded, pausing. “ … and to God.”

“You must go.”

“I cannot.”

Carlota reached for his hand and placed her hand on her swollen stomach, staring at him.

“You must.”

Antonio glanced at Manuel then stared at Carlota.

“Do you trust me, Father Antonio?” she asked.

“Of course.”

“Then save him. Go now.”

Antonio nodded slowly, removing his hand slowly.

“That settles it,” Michelle announced as Manuel glared at her.

“Antonio, I’ll fly you down to the hangar in the Jet Ranger. The flight crew is already on board and waiting for you.”

Antonio looked to Manuel for permission. Manuel said nothing. His eyes were closed. Father Manuel was thinking.

Antonio picked up his bag. “I will be back as soon as Father Ignatious is safe.” He looked into Carlota’s eyes for final permission.

She grabbed his hand. “God’s speed to you, my friend. Hurry, please, hurry.”

Antonio turned back to Michelle. “Let’s roll.”

Ten minutes later, Antonio was sitting beside Michelle, buckled in, his carry bag between his feet. The heliport opened to the stars above.

The night valley below popped into view as the Jet Ranger lifted off the ground. The machine tilted forward and headed down along the mountain’s slope before leaping into the sky.

“Socrates, connect me with Ray Stauffen in Iquitos.” Michelle said, keeping her eye on the distant lights of the airport.

They were nearing the hangar when Socrates responded. “I am unable to raise Mr. Stauffen.”

“Keep trying until you get him. I want him to meet Father Antonio at the airport and take care of him. Patch him in when you have him.”

“Acknowledged.”

***0069

“HOW MUCH FURTHER?” Cardoso hollered ahead to the old woman through the darkness. The night made the trail invisible. He was able to follow only by keeping fixed on the white dress ahead of him. He had stumbled over many roots lining the crooked path, twisting his ankle.

She stopped and turned, waiting for him to catch up. “Four more hours.”

Felipe heard the distant voices and signaled Ray Stauffen to freeze.

“Four more hours? We must be kilometers from Iquitos by now,” Cardoso declared with exhaustion.

“Many.” She turned and continued walking into the jungle. Cardoso knew it was too late to turn back. He followed through the darkness.

***0070

SUNRISE WAS ONLY a few hours away by the time Michelle had returned from the airport and Bernadine and Manuel had retired for the night.

Carlota had returned to her suite to pray for Antoni, as soon as he left the compound.

Michelle and John sat in his study.

“You need to sleep. This stress is bad for you.” Michelle reminded him.

“I’ll sleep in.”

“John.”

John looked up. “Yes, Socrates.”

“Cardinal Rajunt called Cardinal Klodzinski in Rome from Lima last night.”

“Rajunt is still in Lima?”

“Yes.”

“Still looking for De las Casas?”

“No. He has more pressing concerns. His dialogue with Klodzinski revealed that he discerned your plan.”

Michelle and John looked at one another. John’s eyes narrowed. Michelle’s widened.

“What does he know?”

“Little but suspects the truth. He now knows you own SYNGENTEC and suspects Father Bernadine gave you Fragment I, from which you cloned Jesus.”

“Anything else?” John asked.

“Yes. He said the preachings of De Gonzales’ priests are that a cloned Jesus will be born near Lima, within the month.”

John turned to Michelle. “We have serious trouble.”

***0071

MARÍA ROLLED AWAY from Fëdor and pulled on her khaki trousers and t-shirt as the jungle birds loudly announced sunrise. Fëdor lay sprawled on his back, arms folded over his face to block the early sun.

The constant buzz of a million insects monopolized the air.

María lit a cigarette and walked the compound’s perimeter. She checked each sentry in the trees of the jungle, along the trails that led into the compound.

Satisfied with her security, María returned to Gómez. She smiled as she stared down. The ants had fed from his neck up. A bloody skull replaced his face. Black holes replaced his eyes.

She snapped a twig from a branch and slipped it into Gómez’ skull, through an eye hole. She pulled it out to inspect it. One large ant clung to the twig, biting it, refusing to let go. She walked to the smoldering campfire and the dozen Sendero still sleeping around it.

She tossed the twig onto the white coals. The enormous ant sizzled and popped. “Wake.” She kicked the foot of the nearest soldier. Her tone snapped everyone to life.

María inclined her head toward Gómez’ body. “Throw him back in the hut.”

As several Sendero scrambled toward Gómez, she turned to the others. “Fix me breakfast.” She turned to watch them drag Gómez by one leg toward the hut.

Sister Teresa was closest to the door. The stench inside the hut from their urine and feces was so bad she kept her mouth pressed to the doorframe, trying to breathe clean air between the cracks. When she heard Sendero approaching, she backed away.

They opened the door, tossing in Gómez. His bloody skull flashed in the dawn light before they closed the door and returned the hut to darkness.

Sister Teresa began a continuous scream.

María listened with a smile until a Sendero near the campfire became irritated, co*cked his .45, and headed for the hut.

“No,” María ordered. He stopped. “Let her scream. I enjoy it.”

***0072

RAY STAUFFEN FROZE in his tracks when Felipe crouched and signaled him down. Stauffen hesitated until he caught the faint smell of cigarette smoke.

“Sendero,” the boy whispered.

“Is it their camp?” Stauffen whispered.

The boy shook his head, “Trail guards,” he whispered. “The priest and the old woman passed by them without seeing them. They stay several yards off the trail to guard against intruders.” The boy drew his face closer to Stauffen. “The old woman is Sendero.” He whispered softly.

“How do you know?”

“They would be dead otherwise,” he whispered.

“Can we get by them?”

“No.” The boy shook his head again, backing away. “We must back out and cut around.”

“Cut around, without a trail?” Stauffen asked stubbornly.

The boy nodded.

A half hour later at sunrise, Cardoso and the old woman entered a clearing.

At the Iquitos airport, the large jet with Antonio on board touched down.

***0073

MICHELLE INSISTED THAT John sleep, putting him to bed before returning to his study. She looked at her watch. Nine in the morning.

“Socrates, Pete Riner, please.”

Within a minute, Riner was on the speaker phone. “Ms. Cumberland?”

“Pete?”

“Yes, Ma’am.”

“We need a security force down in Iquitos, Peru.”

“What’s up?”

“Can you come up to the compound? Are you in Saratoga?”

“Yes. Just finished breakfast. I’ll be right up.”

“Thank you, Pete.”

She listened for the click that ended the conversation. “Socrates?”

“Yes.”

“Can you reach Angelica Montoya?”

“Yes.”

“Please do so.”

After several more seconds, a new voice appeared. “Hola!”

“Angelica?” Michelle asked.

“Michelle! Where are you calling from?” Angelica asked.

“Wyoming.”

“Is Carlota okay?” Angelica asked instantly.

“Yes but I need you to fly to Wyoming.”

“When?”

“Now.”

“Something is wrong with Carlota. What is it?”

“Other than missing you, she’s fine but I need you to get here as soon as you can.”

“Our board meets in an hour with the World Monetary Fund. I can postpone it, if necessary.”

“No. If you leave tomorrow morning, you’ll be in by afternoon. That will be fine.” Michelle checked her watch.

“We have a plane in Iquitos, ready to bring you up tomorrow. US Customs can clear you in Lima. Janice McClain can pick you up at your house and take you to the airport. When can you be ready?”

“I’ll be ready in the morning when she arrives.”

“I’ll see you tomorrow. Thank you, Angelica.”

Michelle glanced at her watch. “Socrates, have you been able to reach Ray Stauffen yet?”

“No.”

“Connect me with Father Antonio, they should be nearing Iquitos by now.”

“They landed ten minutes ago.”

“Can you connect me with Antonio?”

Socrates spoke quickly, first with the pilot, then with Michelle. “Father De Montesinos disembarked immediately to catch a taxi into the city.”

“He’s already gone?! Does the pilot know where he went?”

Fifteen seconds passed. “No.”

Michelle breathed in deeply. “Have the pilot fly to Lima and ask Janice McClain to pick up Angelica tomorrow morning at her house.”

“I’ve notified the pilot but am presently unable to raise Ms. McClain.”

“Keep trying.”

***0074

ANTONIO HURRIED FROM the airport to the taxi stand. His armpits were dark with sweat by the time he found a cab.

“Can you take me to the Church?” he asked in Spanish as he climbed in beside the driver.

“Sí.” The driver answered and headed into town.

“Is it far?” he asked.

“No, Padre.” In Iquitos, nothing is far.” The driver chortled, pointing through the windshield.

Antonio spotted the white bell tower above the city. The bell tower looked like an old fortress standing two stories above the other buildings. It had two tiny windows on each side, one below the other.

Within minutes, the driver pulled up to the Plaza de Armas and pointed to the church across the street.

Antonio paid the fare and walked to the front door. Nothing moved inside. The interior was baroque and filled with dark wood. The pews were empty.

“Hello,” he said aloud but received no reply. At that instant, he remembered he had left the plane without taking any of the money Michelle had offered. He hurried outside to catch his cab back to the airport.

As he left the church, he looked up at the roar of Mullen’s giant plane passing overhead, heading for Lima, its white underbelly stark against the blue sky.

“Damn!” he cursed under his breath and headed back into the church.

“Hello!” He called, but only silence greeted him. He collapsed onto a pew, resting his elbow on his bag. He could feel his mind beg for sleep and pressed his bag into a pillow, stretching onto the pew as sleep overtook him.

***0075

MANUEL WALKED TO the door to Bernadine’s suite.

“Father Bernadine is not in his suite,” Socrates explained. “He left several hours ago.”

“Where is he?”

“He is in Mr. Mullen’s study with Mr. Mullen and Ms. Cumberland.”

“Where is Carlota?”

“She is still in her suite.”

“Is she awake?”

“No. She is sleeping.”

Manuel headed for Bernadine’s suite.

Michelle, John and Bernadine looked up as he walked in. He looked exhausted.

“Did you sleep, my boy?” Bernadine asked with concern.

“I did not.” Manuel answered.

John interrupted them. “Michelle has asked Angelica to come up to be with Carlota. We want her to convince Carlota not to return to Lima at this time.”

“Why not?” Manuel asked.

“Socrates,” John instructed.

The huge black screen on the far wall came to life. “And in other headline news, strange developments in Peru.”

The anchorwoman stared into a camera. “For more on that, our Lima correspondent, John Michaels.”

The woman’s image was replaced by the image of a crowd of tens of thousands of people surging out of Lima, toward a hilltop. The camera spun around to catch Lima below, then swung back to the crowd.

That image was replaced by a correspondent standing near the bottom of a hill flanked by the crowd surging out of Lima. “By the thousands, people are flocking to hear priests preach that Jesus will be born before winter.

“All the churches in Peru could not hold such numbers of people. As you can see behind me, the crowds are too dense for me to make it up to the top to speak to this priest,” the camera zoomed in on Father Rivera high atop the hill, “but the message is being repeated all across Peru. As the excitement builds, we’ll bring you more. Back to you, Shauna.”

The set went black.

Bernadine leaned over to John, whispering, “I like Socrates.”

Manuel shook his head and looked at John.

“Has Carlota seen this?”

“No.” Michelle answered for John. “Do you understand why we fear her return to Lima?”

“Yes. Is Father Antonio yet in Puca Urco?”

“We don’t know. We have lost contact with him,” John answered.

“Lost him? How could you lose him?!”

“Our contact in Iquitos did not meet him when he landed and he left the airport on his own,” Michelle snapped.

“What are you doing about it?” Manuel snapped back.

“They are doing all they can, my boy,” Bernadine tried to calm Manuel.

Manuel shook his head. “I’m going outside for some air,” he said and turned, leaving the suite.

Michelle glared at his back until he disappeared.

***0076

THE CHURCH WAS dark when Antonio awoke.

An old woman in a soiled white dress was shaking his shoulder. “No sleeping in the church,” she said forcefully.

Antonio sat up and shook his head to wake up. He sat with his head in his hands for a moment.

“No sleeping in the church. You must leave,” she said again.

“I’m waiting for the priest.”

“No confessions. The priest is gone,” she replied in Spanish.

“Gone?”

“Sí.”

“Do you know where he is?”

“Who are you?” she asked.

“Father Antonio de Montesinos.”

“Another priest!” she smiled broadly with missing teeth.

“Yes. Who is the parish priest? Do you know him?”

“Sí. I can take you to him.”

“Where is he?”

“Deep into the jungle. Follow me.”

“I can not go, I must get to Puca Urco immediately.”

“The priest needs you, there has been an accident. Many killed.” the old woman lied.

“He can take you to Puca Urco after you help him.”

“What happened?”

She shrugged. “He rushed to give last rites. Many dying.”

Antonio scooped up his bag. “I’ll follow.”

“Come, come,” she waved for him as she reached the door.

***0077

ANITA ARRIVED AT Junín 548 across the street from the Plaza Bolívar and made her way down the stairs to the library basem*nt and the Museum of the Spanish Inquisition.

She followed an American family to the waxwork exhibits.

“Oooh, neat Dad. Look, that guy’s getting his feet roasted over a fire! Cool! Did they really do that?” a small boy asked, hanging on his father’s sleeve.

“Yes, they did,” the man said grimly. “For religious reasons.”

“Honey, this isn’t something the kids should see,” his wife said, a shiny red purse tucked under her arm.

The man nodded.

“Oh, wow! Look, that guy’s stretched out on a rack! Cool! Sis, look!! That guy’s getting his guts cut out! Neat-O!” the boy exclaimed.

“Let’s show them around the Archaeological Complex.”

Anita waited until they disappeared back up the stairs. She looked to the entrance at the attendant standing at the door, a pink scarf draped fashionably around her neck.

Anita feigned confusion as she approached the woman.

“May I help you?” the woman asked.

“I wanted to see the Tupac Amaru exhibit, but I don’t see it.”

“I’m sorry we have no such exhibit.” The woman smiled politely.

“I know you have a Tupac Amaru exhibit and I want to see it.”

“Miss, I’m sorry. You have the wrong museum.”

“I insist on seeing the exhibit,” Anita snapped.

“Do you?”

“I do, I insist,” she said and whispered, “Marta?”

The woman looked around the empty room. “Give me a name.”

“María.” Anita whispered.

“I finish in two hours. Meet me in the Plaza Bolívar then.” Anita did not look back as she headed up the stairs.

***0078

SWEAT BEADED ACROSS Antonio’s forehead, as he struggled to keep up with the old woman. Moving fast for four hours along the dark jungle path and she had not slowed, except when looking back to him.

He focused on her white dress, the only thing he could see in the dark.

“How much further?” he hollered ahead to her.

She waved him on without a word or looking back.

Two hours later, they stood at the edge of a clearing.

Antonio stepped into the clearing, looking for the parish priest giving Last Rites. A cold gun barrel lodged against the base of his skull.

“Move, priest,” someone hissed from behind.

“Hola!” the old woman shouted to the Sendero gathered around the campfire.

A large soldier and a bare-chested young woman approached. He held his gas lantern high.

“What did you bring us this time?” María asked and hugged the old woman as the soldier held the lantern higher.

The old woman looked back to Antonio. “Another priest,” she spit contemptuously.

“Much higher, Fëdor!” María snapped. She inched close toward Antonio.

Her pupils widened as Antonio emerged into view. Olive brown, deeply tanned by the Amazon’s sun. Thick black hair. Pale blue eyes, reflected back the lantern. His teeth glowed white in the lantern’s hissed glow.

“Mmmmmmmmmmm,” she purred loud and long.

Fëdor’s face contorted with hatred. He glared up at Antonio.

“Throw him into the hut with the others?” he asked, quickly.

Antonio watched María think, lightly bobbing her head.

“Bind him. Keep him near me.”

María returned to the old woman, hugging her. ”Come, warm yourself by the fire with me.” The old woman hugged her tightly.

***0079

MARTA FILLED ANITA’S cup with the strongest coffee she had ever smelled. The kitchen curtains were spread wide. Morning sun flooded across the table.

“Did you sleep well?” Marta asked. “Was the floor comfortable?” Anita nodded.

“María didn’t need to send you to tell me about this new Jesus business. That’s all anyone will talk about here.”

“We need to find out who the new Madonna is and where to find her. María wants to kill her.”

“That is ridiculous but not surprising.”

Anita’s eyes widened. “You are questioning her order?”

“Of course, I question everything, a survival skill you may want to acquire.”

Anita hesitated at Marta’s accent. “You are American.”

Marta ignored the question. “I would kidnap Father Rivera first.”

“Who is Father Rivera?”

“One of the priests that has been preaching every day that Jesus will be born near Lima. He’s become a star in Lima. If he can’t tell us who the new Madonna is, no one can.”

“When do we start?”

“We don’t. You stay here. You’re a new face, the police will notice you. I’ll arrange everything. In a few days you’ll be back in Iquitos with the priests María will most want.”

Marta smiled.

***0080

JOHN STOOD QUIETLY looking out the window in his study. “Socrates, what do I own in Lima?

“Two banks, an office building and two small hotels, which Janice McClain oversees. Nothing substantial. You also control a small port facility, but it is leased property.”

“Tell me about the hotels.”

“One is the Hostal Bolívar in the Barranco suburb. It is a converted mansion that overlooks the Pacific. The other lies in the heart of Lima, the Lima Flores.

“Where is Jacob?”

“Mr. Brigham is in Anchorage.”

“Get him on the line, please.”

Within seconds, Brigham was on the speaker phone.

“John?”

“Jacob, are you familiar with our Lima operations?”

“Yes, of course. We don’t have much there.”

“Are you familiar with the Hostal Bolívar and the Limaflores?”

“Yes. We bought them at three-times market value, from General Hernando de Silva to keep in good with Peru’s power elite.”

“I want them shut down for renovation.”

“What will they do with the guests?”

“Put them up in the best hotels at our expense. No one should complain.”

“What’s up?” Brigham asked.

“I’m concerned the problem with the messianic priests will worsen by the time we return Carlota.”

“She’ll be fine, John. Why do you want the hotels renovated?”

“A back door,” John said as he turned, speaking as he walked to his desk. “The situation may easily worsen to where no pregnant woman could go unnoticed. I want some place to move Carlota if her presence at her home becomes a liability. “Get the hotels under renovation and get some of Riner’s people into Lima. I want them posing as construction workers at the hotels.

***0081

“BIND HIS WRISTS and hang him by his arms there.” María pointed to a well-branched young tree at the edge of the clearing next to the hut.

Antonio watched María and several Sendero approach the hut as Fëdor ripped away his shirt then tightly bound his wrists, before knocking him to the ground. Whenever Antonio tried to stand, Fëdor yanked him off his feet with a long rope, dragging him toward the tree.

The Sendero slammed opened the hut door and María loudly ordered everyone out.

The first of the squinting prisoners moved frightfully into the light. Fëdor tossed the rope, attached to Antonio’s wrist, over a low overhanging branch as a second prisoner emerged and he ordered two Sendero to help him.

The first prisoners out were women, naked and pale. One was young and one was old. The older woman’s face was badly bruised and her hand bandaged and bloody.

Antonio’s arms suddenly snapped upward as Fëdor and the Sendero hauled him into the air. He spun slowly, arms stretched above him. More prisoners emerged. He suddenly caught glimpses of Ignatius. Like the women, Ignatious was naked and white as snow. His heart raced. He feared Ignatious seeing him. He knew the Sendero.

As he spun, he counted five prisoners coming out.

María gathered them a few feet from him. “How do you like our addition?” she laughed and pointed at Antonio then yelled at Fëdor. “Stop his spinning so he faces the prisoners!”

Fëdor grabbed Antonio’s legs from the back and stopped his spin.

Ignatious squinted hard toward Antonio, his eyes fighting the bright sun.

“Say nothing!” Antonio thought as if he could beam the message into Ignatious’ brain to stay back.

Ignatious, still squinting hard, inched forward until a Sendero shoved a gun barrel into his chest. María swept the gun aside with one hand, her eyes studying Ignatious’ face.

Ignatious continued inching forward, staring, squinting. “Antonio?”

Antonio knew Ignatious’ old eyes were weak and turned away his head.

“Antonio!” Ignatious hurried toward him.

“We’ve united old friends.” María laughed and signaled a Sendero who grabbed him by the neck and threw him back as hard as he could.

Ignatious sprawled onto the dirt, rolling.

“Stop!” Antonio screamed at him.

Another Sendero unleashed his machete and advanced on Antonio for speaking without permission.

María intervened with a look. The man stopped.

“He doesn’t know my rules yet,” she said, eyeing him. “No one may touch him, unless I order.” Her tone was cold, glaring at Fëdor. “And I mean no one.”

They nodded obediently, except Fëdor.

One of the Sendero pulled Ignatious into line while the others forced all the prisoners to kneel.

María unholstered her .45, walked behind Teresa, lodging it to the back of her head, pushing the barrel hard enough to push her head forward. She turned to Agnus. “Tell me about new Jesus.”

Teresa glanced at Agnus from the corner of her eye.

“What are you talking about?” Agnus glared back.

María smiled and pulled the trigger. An explosion echoed across the compound. The birds in the canopy above began screeching. Teresa’s lifeless body fell forward to the ground.

“NO!” Agnus screamed and tried to crawl to Teresa. Several Sendero held her back. She kicked hard at them.

María walked behind Samuel Hyndman, who had buried his face in his hands, sickened. María stuck the barrel to the back of his head.

Agnus screamed at her. “Jesus sees everything you do!”

“I’m counting on that.” María replied coldly. “Now answer my question. Which priest knows most about this Jesus the villagers are celebrating about?” She pointed the barrel at Hyndman’s head,

“This one?” María swung the gun toward Ignatious’ head, “This one?”

Then she swung the barrel towards Cardoso’s head, “Or this one?”

María’s cold black eyes watched Agnus, who did not realize what she was doing, glancing instinctively at Ignatious for guidance.

María smiled. “That answers that.” She swung the barrel to the back of Hyndman’s head and pulled the trigger. Another explosion. The jungle birds shrieked again. Hyndman plunged forward.

“NO!” Agnus screamed with fury.

“Throw these two back in,” María ordered, pointing to Agnus and Cardoso. “Toss the bodies in with them.”

Two Sendero dragged Teresa and Hyndman’s bodies into the hut by their feet. Several Sendero surrounded Ignatious.

“Stake him.” María ordered.

Ignatious kicked at them until they overpowered him. Within moments, he was spread, staked and facing the sky.

María walked over, staring down at him. “Tell me what you know of this new Jesus the villagers are celebrating about.”

Ignatious glared skyward.

“Who is the new Madonna?” Her brow arched ominously. “How can I find her?”

He glared skyward.

“Where can I find her?” María kicked the side of his head. “Tell me, old man.”

He closed his eyes, “I would rather die.”

“Then you will die the most painful death I can provide.” She spit on him, spun and walked behind Antonio. “Fëdor, give me your skinning knife.”

When María headed back to Ignatious, casually twirling the blade, Antonio screamed out.

“No!”

María stopped, smiled and turned slowly, studying Antonio anew. “Why do you care?”

Antonio looked away.

“If you don’t answer fast enough, I will let you watch me skin him alive.”

“He raised me.” Antonio responded instantly.

“He raised you?” A dark brow arched.

Antonio nodded.

“Do you love him?” María said, eyeing him anew.

“Yes,” Antonio confessed in a whisper.

María’s lips opened into a smile. “What will you do to save his life?”

“Anything.” He whispered.

“Tell me what you know about this new Jesus? Do not lie, priest.”

“I would tell you if I knew. I was sent to find out but know nothing yet,” Antonio lied. He could tell she believed him.

“But you must give me something to save his life.” Her dark eyes studied the lean, striated and powerful man hanging by wrists, helpless before her. Her breathing quickened.

When their eyes met, she knew he understood.

María tossed the skinning knife to the Sendero kneeling above Ignatious. “If this priest displeases me,” she pointed up to Antonio, “skin the old man slowly.”

She looked up to Antonio. “Do you understand what is at stake for you?”

“Yes.”

“Fëdor, let him down. Unbind his wrists.”

“But ─” Fëdor whined, wanting to kill Antonio, on the spot.

María’s nostrils flared at his insubordination.

The rope slackened and Antonio’s toes touched the ground. María walked to the middle of the compound and turned back to him. “Come,” she motioned.

Antonio complied. When he stood before her, she motioned for Sendero to encircle him.

“Remove your clothes, priest”

The Sendero gathered around him.

Antonio froze.

“Or the old priest is skinned alive right now.” María lowered her voice. “Decide his fate.”

Antonio’s large fingers hurriedly unfastened his belt.

“Fetch the water bucket, Fëdor.”

María’s eyes widened when she suddenly noticed a crucifix hanging from Antonio’s neck. She reached up, tearing it away, stomping it to the dirt, eyeing him intensely, whispering. “So you like crucifixions.”

By the time Fëdor returned with the bucket, Antonio stood naked, large hands clasped.

“Did I give you permission to cover yourself?” María snarled, a brow arching.

Antonio stared at her as the Sendero crowded closer.

María backhanded him across the face. “When I ask a question. you answer. Did I give you permission?” María repeated coldly.

Antonio’s large hands dropped away. Sendero jaws dropped and eyes widened. “Yacumama! Matatoro!”

The women and men whistled alike. Fëdor glared into Antonio’s eyes.

“Much better,” she smiled at Antonio. “Remain still.” She walked up and inspected him, opening his mouth to push lightly against his teeth, as if buying a bull. She finished by patting his butt.

María motioned for Fëdor to place the water bucket beside Antonio, as she glared at him. “He’s filthy because you dragged him across the ground without my permission,” she snarled.

Fëdor glanced at Antonio’s dusty body, shrugging.

María’s nostrils flared. “So you wash him. Use your shirt.”

Fëdor stood his ground.

“Now!”

Several Sendero men and women near the circle around them moved toward Fëdor until he tore off his shirt. He plunged it into the water bucket and slapped it against Antonio’s powerful chest, rubbing fast and rough.

“Gently, Fëdor.” María’s tone announced his proximity to death.

Antonio closed his eyes as the cold wet rag slipped across his stomach and chest as Fëdor glared at him with living hatred. When he finished wetting Antonio’s neck and face, he started to walk away.

“Oh, your job’s not done, Fëdor.”

Fëdor stopped in his tracks.

“Prepare him.”

Disgust settled over Fëdor’s face. He dropped to his knees in front of Antonio and looked at her.

“Be thorough with the soap. Scrub hard. You’ll need to use both hands at once.” She laughed at Fëdor’s mounting misery.

“Fëdor, have you ever seen such a wonder like Antonio?” Fëdor refused to answer. His future with María had just vanished in front of his eyes and he knew it. “Don’t you wish yours was half that size?”

“Answer me, Fëdor.”

He nodded his head silently and continued soaping, with both hands. Antonio closed his eyes.

“Open your eyes, priest.” María snapped. “Keep your eyes on mine.”

When she finally nodded sufficiency, Fëdor stood, threw his wet shirt into the ashes of the campfire and stalked into the shadows.

“Put your pants and boots back on, priest,” she ordered.

As Antonio obeyed, she signaled a Sendero. He hurried to her. “Pack my special gear.”

The Sendero nodded, grimacing.

***0082

JOHN AND BERNADINE remained at the compound while Michelle drove Carlota and Manuel into Saratoga to meet Angelica’s plane.

Michelle forced a smile when Carlota looked to her as the large jet passed overhead and circled in the distance to align with the runway. Carlota’s excitement at Angelica’s arrival was electric.

The plane’s landing lights glowed in the dusk as it approached the runway. The towering Sierra Madre peaks loomed in the background.

Carlota’s hands clenched together until the plane rolled safely to a stop near them and the door opened.

Angelica emerged at the top of the stepway. She spotted Carlota and hurried to her.

***0083

ANTONIO FOLLOWS THE Sendero for two hours through a living labyrinth of entangled vines and waxy leaves, with deep, green-silver veins and burgundy undersides. It spills into a dirty clearing and the ruins of a church. Droning insects are loud and constant.

He open-mouth breathes in the heat. Sweat beads his face. He stops walking, staring at the building.

Abandoned when Sendero arrived, half the roof was gone. Green vines snake across the white stucco skin. A whitewashed cross tilts above the entry, precariously.

Sendero kick away the remains of a door. He follows.

Stepping inside, they pause, waiting for eyes to adjust. Antonio’s pale blue eyes adjusted fast and he watched a wall shadow position behind the altar.

Large Sendero boots kick away broken pews. A yellow, jungle pit viper and black huntsman spider race for the altar’s shadow.

“Stake him.” María orders.

Two grip his arms. They slam him onto the ground floor, instantly wrap wetted leather strips around his wrists and ankles, pulling off his boots and socks. They hammer long stakes into the ground, beyond his reach, stretching and tying them to the metal stakes.

Two others move fast to hammer in their stakes for his legs.

María signals them to stop and steps between his thighs. “Wider. Much, much wider.”

He grunts hard. They look up at her.

“Much more.”

He cries out.

She nods approval. They quickly hammer their stakes beyond bare feet, grab the wetted cords, tie his ankles, pull his legs as far as they can and tie him off.

“Everyone comfortable?” She smiles up to the night sky, teeth displaying and smiles down to him, as a black silhouette amid the legion of blazing stars above.

Antonio lays like a giant X. He stares at the night sky.

“Light the candles. Return to camp.” María smiles with a new thought, “Return at dawn with Fëdor.”

They light the candles on the wooden altar and vanish.

María quickly kneels beside Antonio, slowly running long fingers through thick black hair. Dark brown eyes fix on pale blue eyes reflecting candle flames. He looks away.

She squeezes his throat, forcing him to stare back. She traces along an angled square jaw to square chin, with two fingers. “You are one of a kind, Antonio. One of a kind.”

She flicks a black strand of hair from his forehead, dropping her head to kiss him. His jaw clenches.

“Resist and the old man will be skinned, here in front of you. Decide now.”

His jaw slackens.

“Open your mouth. Push out your tongue.”

He obeys.

“Much, much more.”

He strains to obey.

Two long fingers push against it. “Make it hard.”

It stiffens, extending.

She begins sucking it, feverishly. Her scent awakens something ancient within him. She feels his awakening.

“Open your eyes.”

Black eyes stare. Pale blue eyes stare back.

“What is your name?”

“Father Antonio . . . .”

Before he can finish, she raises back on her heels, backhanding him. Blood beads at a corner of his mouth.

“You were not born a priest!” She screams, “What is your name?!”

“Antonio de Montesinos.”

“Much better.” Her fingers circle a small nipple.

Dusk had turned to night. The circle of candles around him keeps the room from utter darkness. Shadows and candle light dance across their faces.

“You have a long night ahead,” María explains. “Would you like water first?”

She offers a sip from her canteen. He raises his head. She laughs, pulling it away.

Antonio drops his head back.

“How long have you been a priest?”

His eyes close. “Eleven years.”

“Are you virgin?”

Antonio remains still.

Her head stops moving. “I’ll have the old man dragged here to watch you perform. Would you like that?”

“I am.”

“Then I’m your first,” she bends and whispers, “and last.”

Michelle’s face flashes before him. His body explodes in struggle.

María sits back, watching him struggle to free himself. Her black eyes study every striated muscle shifting beneath bulging veins. After he calms, her fingers move down between five pairs of knotted abs, then slowly trace the pronounced V of his lower belly. Her tongue wets her lips.

“Your fate is sealed, Antonio.” She explains, as if to a child. “Tonight, you determine the old man’s.”

Pale blue eyes shut.

“Open them.” She slaps him, studying his face as she caresses his chest. She plays with both small nipples, tweaking, squeezing then stretching both.

“Do not do this, I beg you.”

María slaps him again, harder. “Never speak without my permission.” She bends to a stretched nipple, biting into it, rearing back.

“AAGH!” Antonio screams.

“Did you enjoy that?”

He stares at her, incredulously.

“You will come to enjoy the pain I provide.” She caresses his face, mother to child. “I’m well practiced in the art.”

She studies his quickened breathing, bends down and bites into the other small nipple. Her head rears back again.

“AAGH!”

“You are a natural.”

He stares blankly.

María bends again to his chest, dragging her dark tongue across it, following a thin trail of hair running between five pairs of tightly knotted abs, leaving a snail’s trail. It lingers along Antonio’s trembling underbelly until his belt scratches her cheek.

María sits back, swallowing from her canteen, looking at him. Light blue eyes reflect bright candle flames.

“Keep your eyes on mine, Antonio.”

María unbuckles his belt, opens the top button, sliding in long fingers. Antonio gasps.

“I see I have yet to excite you.” María leans back again on her heels, taking a long drink from her canteen. “But do not despair, the night is young and I am resourceful.”

María leaves the church. She returns with her machete, kneels, and works her way up his legs, slicing his pants. She rips them away, tossing them in front of the altar.

Naked, Antonio stares into the night sky as María kneels her slowly between his widely splayed legs.

María’s breathing quickens as she ran her hands up and down sinewy, olive brown thighs for many minutes, like a trainer rubbing down a prize stallion. “Magnificent,” she whispered repeatedly, suddenly mesmerized by his panic breathing. She stares spellbound.

Dark hair lightly covers his lean, striated and muscled chest. His chest hair funnels quickly into a thin trail of black hair that runs between five pairs of knotted abs. The prominent muscular V of his lower belly points to a bull’s proportions.

She lifts heavy orbs off the ground. She weighs each in a palm, bouncing them. His breathing accelerates. She releases them slowly to watch each slide back onto the floor. She holds back a handful of long black hair with one hand and lowers her head.

Antonio feels her long tongue snake up the inside of his thigh. Her jaw opens and she swallows both twins whole. He heaves and twists. She rides his excitement. Her mouth bloated, she stays with him until he settles. He listens to her purr as she feasts. Eventually, her lips release them, one at a time.

Antonio cries. “Please, please, please do not do this.”

She lowers her head and drags strands of soft hair back and forth. As her heavily-veined prey uncoils, stretches and lifts into the air, lips open wide.

Antonio gasps as she engulfs what she can. His head arches back. He struggles to be free.

Exhausted, defeated, he calms.

Altar candles burn down a third, as María works him with both hands. His breathing quickens. His face contorts as pale blue eyes roll to the back of his head. Legs tremble. Toes curl.

María stops, leaning back and back hands him. Pale blue eyes return to focus. Antonio looks confused at her

“Never without my permission.” she warns. “Let’s begin again,”

“No more,” he cries.

“Much more,” she whispers, lowering her head to his chest.

Antonio shuts his eyes as her tongue leaves another snail’s trail up his inner thigh until again reaching the twins. A long, dark tongue encircles each, slowly and deliberately. He trembles.

She sits back onto her heels, using both hands at once. When blue eyes again roll back into his head, she slaps him again, harder.

When he calms, she resumes and continues until the candles melt away, flicker and die, plunging the church into darkness. His tortured moans fill the black void. After a half hour, another groan rumbles at the back of his throat. A striated chest tenses and dozens of veins snake across his blushing chest and neck. Toes curl.

María sits back up, slapping him to yank him back.

“You’re no virgin.” she taunts, rising to her feet.

The icy smile across her face in the darkness escapes him. “We need more candles.”

His eyes close.

Minutes later, footsteps return through an impenetrable darkness. A match flares. She lights a dozen candles, encircling him with flaming candles. She opens a water stained leather bag, holding her special gear. She retrieves two small vials, holding each up to the candle light, one holds something brown and one holds something white.

She fills one nostril with the white powder before filling the other with brown powder, tapping both vials empty. He coughs violently, choking from cocaine and ayahuasca burning the back of his throat. She pulls a bottle of special oil from the bag. She oils long fingers slowly, staring at him.

She oils each finger, separately, thoroughly, patiently waiting for his pale blue eyes to dilate and glaze.

When they do, she bends down, flicking her long dark tongue gently back and forth across his underbelly, leaving a snail’s trail downward.

Glazed eyes open to the darkness overhead. A legion of stars crowd to watch him writhe. He suddenly wants them to watch. He feels their envy. He begins gyrating his hips, slowly and methodically, at first. He accelerates powerful thrusts that precisely match the frenzied pistoning of her hands, stroke for stroke.

Something snaps deep within him. No sensation before equaled this. He knows it and wants more, much more.

Chaos rolls across his mind in thunder. Pleasure swirls in rain. Fever burns in lightning. He strains against his bonds.

His body contracts with an overwhelming need. He raises his head, looking down to her bobbing head. His rigid torso glistens under the candlelight encircling him.

This time he will not groan. He knows it will betray him and she will again yank him back from the brink and begin anew. He begins to convulse but holds still. His neck and chest flush bright red, veins suddenly criss crossing them. His face twists as in anguish. Still he makes no sound. He will finish this against her will.

Hips lunge skyward. He plunges down her throat, releasing, “MICHELLE … MICHELLE … MICHELLE.”

Michelle vanishes from his mind’s eye as he returns to earth, drained and drifting contentedly.

When focus returns, he lifts his head and looks down.

The blackest of black and the coldest of cold eyes stare. Gagging intensely, María spits out only saliva, scraping her tongue with the back of her hand.

A chill runs his spine when she sits back and a match flares, lighting her face and a cigarette.

“Who is Michelle?” Predatory intelligence twists in curiosity.

As she studies him, smoke snakes out of her nose and into her mouth. She inhales deeply, holding the cigarette in one hand and slowly rolling the heavy orbs with her other hand. Her head bobs.

Her taste for nicotine satisfied and her decision final, she exhales and allows the twins to slide to earth. She flicks a glowing cigarette into the darkness, rises and retrieves the glistening machete from the altar, kneeling between his widely splayed sinewy legs.

His head drops to the ground.

She slaps the broad side of the glistening steel blade against his stomach to focus him.

“Good news, Antonio. I decided you will live,” she smiles. “But poor, poor, Michelle,” she mocks, dangling a long wetted leather strand.

“What will she think of you when you return without them?” She laughs, scooping the twins from the ground. With well practiced skill, she grabs the twins to noose them, tightly wraps the wet leather cord and cinches it hard.

He grunts. She cinches harder.

“Please no,” he looks up to her. “Please, do not do this. Not this. Not this. I beg you. I beg. Not this.”

She positions her machete blade up beneath the strangled twins, waiting for them to darken. As they did, she spoke.

“Keep your eyes on me,” she orders, “I want to watch your face.”

“Why do you hate me?” He screams hoarsely. “Why do you hate me?!”

“You are far too perfect, Antonio.” She paused. “You need a flaw. I’ll give you one. A gift for Michelle. I will find her someday so she can thank me.”

Antonio’s jaw clenches. He holds her gaze.

Profound hatred washes through him. For the first time in his life, Antonio feels an evil stir within himself. Waves of hatred call to it.

She begins slowly sliding the razored blade. When a tiny trickle of blood begins to ooze onto the silvery beveled edge, she stops.

Antonio begins convulsing, silently.

She looks up from her task. “You think you’re brave Antonio,” she laughs. “But you will cry out yet. If not for yourself, for your Michelle. Let’s begin again.”

“No!” Antonio screams to the night sky.

“Yes.”

***0084

MICHELLE STARES INTO the mirror, gripping the sink with white knuckles, whispering, “Where are you Antonio? Speak to me.”

“Socrates, still nothing from Stauffen?”

“No. I am currently unable to raise him.”

“When will Riner’s people reach Iquitos?”

“The first group arrives in six hours.”

“Is the Peruvian government being notified?”

“No.”

“I want to know when Riner lands or you reach Stauffen.”

***0085

CARLOTA AWAKES DEEP within the mountain, surrounded by darkness. The child within her stirs.

She smiled down. “My little angel.”

He stirs again.

Carlota turns to Angelica beside her in the dark, retrieving Angelica’s hand, placing it gently on her stomach. “Can you feel him?”

“Yes,” Angelica pauses. “Do you fear this, Carlota?”

Carlota nods in the blackness.

***0086

THE MACHETE FALLS from María’s hand. She slaps at the back of her neck with the other, retrieving a purple-feathered dart. Glaring at it, she mouths, “Hector.”

Dark black eyes stare suddenly from another universe before rolling into the back of her head. Frothy, black saliva drips from her chin. “I… ,” she falls face forward onto Antonio.

Antonio looks at the teenage boy rushing toward him from the shadows. He pulls María off Antonio, frees the twins and Antonio’s wrists and ankles.

“Thank you … thank you … thank you.” Antonio repeats and repeats, still drugged and confused. “Who are you?”

“Hector.”

“Thank you, Hector … thank you …. thank you … thank you.”

Hector hears returning Sendero. “They come. Hurry.”

Antonio fights to stand and for balance. Hector slides beneath Antonio’s sweating and massive naked frame. He lifts with everything he can. “I’ve got you, Father Antonio. You’re safe.”

Hector carries Antonio into the jungle.

***0087

JOHN ROLLED ONTO his back, hands locked behind his head. Gray eyes stared into the darkness when a small red light blinked. “Socrates?”

“Yes.”

“Are you monitoring my condition?”

“Yes.”

“What time is it?”

“Seven fifteen a.m.”

John closed his eyes. “Anything on Father Antonio?”

“Nothing new. Riner’s people will soon arrive in Iquitos, however.” Several seconds passed.

“Is Michelle awake?” John asked.

“Yes. She is speaking with me now,” Socrates answered John.

“Still nothing on Stauffen?” Michelle was asking Socrates in frustration.

“No,” Socrates answered.

“If Riner can’t locate Antonio, I’m heading down there,” she announced.

“Patch me into her,” John instructed Socrates.

“When will the California─” Michelle was asking.

“Michelle. John is on line,” Socrates interrupted her in mid-sentence.

“John?” Michelle asked.

“Good morning.”

“Good morning. Did you sleep?” she asked.

“I did. What are we looking at today?”

“Antonio and Ray Stauffen are still out of contact. Riner is headed into Iquitos to bring Antonio out.”

“When does Riner arrive?” John asked.

Michelle looked at her watch. “About five hours.”

“Michelle, I know you’re worried about Antonio but two of Riner’s people were Navy Seals and he was a Marine before law school and the F.B.I. If anyone can extract him out safely it’s Pete Riner.”

She remained silent.

“Have you spoken with Carlota and Angelica this morning?” John asked, filling in the silence.

“No. They’re probably still asleep.” Michelle paused, “John, I won’t forgive myself if Antonio is hurt. I insisted he go down to check on Ignatious.”

“I joined you. He would have been beside himself up here, not knowing if Ignatious is safe. Antonio will be fine until Riner can locate, he’s resourceful and grew up in the Amazon jungle. He’s tough, Michelle.”

Michelle remained quiet.

“Wanna have coffee?” John asked, sitting up in the dark. The running lights around his bed glowed with his movement.

“Let me shower first. I’ll come down to your suite then.”

“Ok.”

Socrates took Michelle off line as she headed for her shower.

“She finally fell in love, Socrates,” John said.

Socrates made no reply.

“It’s about time. Too bad it’s with a priest.” John scooted to the edge of his bed. “Do you think Antonio ran into the Sendero?”

“Yes.”

“Those are vicious people. Any new media coverage overnight on the messianic priests?”

“Sporadic local morning newspaper reports and very little radio and television coverage. The international media has not focused on it.”

By the time Michelle arrived, John was in his sitting room, pouring coffee for both of them. She looked worn and exhausted.

“Please have a seat,” John said, “we need to talk.”

“About what?” Michelle asked as she sat.

“A couple of things. Carlota will soon insist on returning to Lima no matter how unstable the situation has become.”

“I agree.” Michelle sipped coffee. “I spoke with Angelica last night. Carlota will return to their home in Miraflores, no matter what. Carlota is determined the child will be born near Lima.”

“We need to be ready to return her under the assumption that everyone there may have an eye on anyone pregnant.” John paused then continued, “I assume we can keep her safe in Miraflores, but I am preparing some backup if their house becomes insecure.”

“What’s your plan?”

“We have two small hotels in Lima. I asked Jacob to begin renovating them as cover. Riner’s people can pose as construction workers. If we need to move Carlota out of her home, we’ll have two secure options within Lima.”

“Good.”

“The second thing I wanted to ask you about are your immediate plans.”

“I’m going down with Carlota and Angelica.”

“I thought you’d want to.” John paused. “That wasn’t part of our original plan.” He did not want her to go.

“I know. But I’m going, John.”

“Because Antonio needs you?”

“Yes.”

“You realize you’ve fallen in love?”

Michelle put down her cup and stared at John defiantly. “Doubt it.”

“I’ve seen much in my life, Michelle. I know when you have fallen in love. You can’t hide that from me.”

“Don’t worry about me.”

“He’s a priest, Michelle”

Anguish swept her face.

***0088

THE SOUND OF rain work Antonio. He shook his head, trying to awaken to the green new world around him.

Hector and his sisters had fashioned a leafy shelter to protect them from the heavy downpour. His sisters sat at the entrance facing outward, watching for Sendero. Hector faced inward, watching Antonio.

“You killed her,” Antonio rasped.

Hector shook his head vigorously. “No, the root does not kill.” Antonio’s head throbbed. His world spun as he tried to sit up. “She’s not dead?”

“She lives.” Hector pushed him back down. As Antonio lay back Hector soothed his fevered forehead with a clump of wet moss.

“She’s not dead?” he asked deliriously, “She’s not dead?”

“Wrong to kill,” Hector reminded him.

Within the chaos of Antonio’s delirium, electric memories from the night flashed like sky lightning, every sensation, every pleasure, every pain rekindled. Emotions reshape with each flash of memory.

His fevered sleep reclaimed him.

Hector’s sisters spun toward Hector. “They come!” The girls whispered as they pulled a giant leaf over the entry. No one stirred.

Antonio began a low fevered moan. Hector pressed a hand atop his mouth as his ears measured the slow approach of steps. His free hand curled into a fist. He prepared to spring.

Fëdor looked around furiously through the downpour, standing two feet from the pile of shrubs. Shirtless, he held an AK-47 tightly to his dark brown chest as the rain cascaded from his forehead into his blazing eyes.

He stood silently while the other Sendero moved on.

***0089

CARLOTA LAUGHED AND her index finger followed the bridge of Angelica’s nose to its tip.

Angelica’s eyes twinkled, “You’re crazy.

“Carlota? Angelica?”

Carlota and Angelica looked up.

“Michelle?” Carlota asked.

“Yes.”

“Where are you?”

“Outside your door.”

Angelica rose from the bed, cinching the belt of her robe around her waist. She headed to the door. “Come in, please come in.”

The bronze door slid open. Michelle stood in tan trousers and a white shirt. She wore no jewelry. Her mane shimmered as she entered, smiling to them.

“Good morning, Angelica.” Michelle kissed her cheek.

“Good morning.” Angelica returned it.

They walked back to the bedroom, where Carlota lay on her back, her head and shoulders propped up with several pillows. “How are you feeling?”

“Plump.” She laughed. “I am ready to return home to Lima.”

Michelle nodded.

“That’s what I wanted to speak with you about. When do you want to return?”

“Tomorrow.” Carlota answered.

“In a couple of days.” Angelica corrected. “Is that alright with you and John?”

“Of course. I am coming with you.”

Their eyes lit.

Angelica sat beside Carlota, then patted the corner of the bed, inviting Michelle to sit.

“You’re worried about Father Antonio, yes?” Angelica asked.

“Deeply and about you two amid growing crowds.” Michelle cleared her throat.

Angelica smiled to her. “We know that and we appreciate you. But, Michelle, your worry for Father Antonio wells from your heart, yes?”

“Yes.”

“Carlota says he’s gaga over you, too.” Carlota smiled naughtily at Michelle.

“He’s a priest for God’s sake, Carlota,” Michelle blushed.

“Now’s not the time to talk about that, Carlota,” Angelica shook her head to herself.

“I’m terrified for him.” Michelle said.

“So are we, Michelle.” Angelica put her hand over Michelle’s.

Michelle stared at the floor, in vain.

***0090

A THIN SHAFT of light penetrated Rajunt’s suite. Despite the blazing afternoon sun, the thick double curtains kept the day at bay. The sound of people below, splashing at the pool, drifted in through the balcony.

Rajunt sat at the edge of his bed, quickly dialing his secretary in Rome. His eyes glowed with an inspiration that had come to him like a vision.

“Cardinal Rajunt’s office,” the distant voice announced.

“Semani.”

Rajunt inspected his fingernails.

“Semani.” Semani answered his phone with his name.

“In the bottom left drawer of my office desk, is the Society’s registry. Cross check it against executives listed in any of John Mullen’s corporate annual statements. Work through the night. Call when you know.”

Rajunt ended the conversation and contacted the front desk. “Send my dinner.”

Elsewhere, Samani slammed down his phone as it dawned that Rajunt hung up.

Socrates listened.

***0091

MARÍA BROKE INTO the clearing, her eyes aflame. Sendero ran from her line of sight. She steamed toward Ignatious.

Staked to the ground all day, Ignatious was still sunburning, bloated white blisters oozing across his face. “What have you done with Antonio?” Ignatious screamed through cracked and bleeding lips, glaring at her.

“He escaped, old man.”

Ignatious cackled.

A Sendero male approached timidly. “Do you want me to skin him?”

“Not yet. Living is his only value. Dead, he’s worthless.”

Ignatious closed his eyes, hanging on every sweet word.

She walked the man to the campfire ring of gray stones and dead ashes.

“Light a fire.” María ordered, turning to a powerful Sendero female. “Antonio will stop at nothing to get to him fast if he knows the old man still lives. The old man knows what I need to learn. Only one thing will loosen his tongue.”

“What?”

“Protecting Antonio.”

“Who?”

“The tall priest.”

The woman looked confused still.

“Yacumama! Matatoro!” María widened her hands by 50 centimeters.

The woman laughed with a quick thumb’s up, having watched Antonio thoroughly scrubbed, pulled and soaped by Fëdor, using both hands at once.

“When we recapture him, he and the old man will trade places. The old man will die before he talks, but he’ll talk before he lets the young priest be skinned alive and there are things I intend to learn.”

***0092

RINER PEERED FROM the jet’s oval windows as the pilot cut the engines.

Two soldiers stood nearby on the tarmac. The shorter with a waist side arm, the larger held an assault rifle. The shorter man commanded.

“We have company,” Denise noted from the row behind Riner. He looked back with concern and nodded.

“I thought our arrival was to be covert. I’ll see what’s up.” Riner rose from his seat and headed for the door.

The shorter soldier stepped forward when Riner emerged from the plane.

“Señor Riner?” The man was formal. His dark hair had grayed at the temples.

“Yes, sir. Who are you?

“Captain Sánchez. General De Silva and Jacob Brigham have arranged for your group to be taken from Iquitos by helicopter to Puca Urco, where the Universal Relief group was ambushed.”

“Whose is that?” Riner pointed to the red and white helicopter.

“Mr. Brigham had it flown in for you, from a construction project in northwestern Brazil.”

“That’s fine, then. Give us a few minutes and we’ll transfer our equipment.” Riner looked back. Denise was watching him from her window. Riner circled his finger through the air in a round-em-up gesture.

Denise looked back to the others. “Let’s move.”

“Surprises are not good,” said the older of the two former Navy Seals, shaking his head.

“Debate later.” Denise ordered.

Six piled from the plane to form a bucket brigade from the plane to the helicopter. Within moments the equipment transferred.

Denise ordered everyone into the helicopter as the rotor engine came to life. The long blades blurred and screamed through the equatorial heat.

Riner stood between the plane and the helicopter, holding a cell phone. With the receiver pressed against his ear, he tried to hear the tone over the high drone of the whirling blades. He was trying to call John Mullen.

The shorter soldier hurried to him, signaling to stop the call. “What’s wrong?” Riner looked irritated.

“Please, no ground transmissions for the next half hour.”

“Why not?” Riner‟s eyes hardened suspiciously. “I need to call.”

“We are attempting to monitor new Sendero transmissions in the area. Please wait until you are airborne before you call, Señor.”

Riner nodded respectfully and headed for the helicopter. Denise eyed him as he buckled in behind her. “Did you reach Mullen?”

“No.” Riner glanced out the window toward the two soldiers. “I‟ll call him when we’re airborne.”

The shorter soldier gave Riner a quick salute as the machine lifted into the immense blue sky. Riner returned the salute.

Denise studied the ground from the air. The thatched roofs of the floating Belén markets along the Amazon and then the whole of Iquitos came into view.

Riner called Mullen.

“Mr. Riner?” Socrates asked.

“Yes. Is Mr. Mullen available?”

“Yes, please hold.”

Several hundred feet below, where Iquitos meets the jungle’s edge, the St. Sebastian school-yard filled with loudly laughing children, running and playing. Denise smiled with memories from that age. She flicked a long silky strand of bright red hair away from brilliant, piercing green eyes, staring down to the children, thinking of her youngest daughter.

A flash of white light filled the entire sky.

The children looked up. Faces contorted as everything trembled.

A huge fireball replaced the helicopter in a flash far brighter than the sun.

The children screamed, running for their schoolhouse as chunks of debris rained.

***0093

“FATHER BERNADINE?” MICHELLE asked.

Bernadine looked around his room in confusion at her voice.

“Father Bernadine?” She repeated, standing before the bronze door of his suite.

“Hallo?”

“Father Bernadine, this is Michelle. I am outside your suite. May I come in?”

“Yes, yes,” Bernadine answered quickly.

Socrates slid open the bronze doors of his suite, silently.

Michelle accepted his invitation and sat near him.

“Are you aware John is ill?” Michelle asked.

“No.” Bernadine shook his head gently with sympathy.

Michelle took a deep breath, she loved John with all her heart. “He will remain comfortable until close to the end, whenever that is. When it does, I’m convinced he will end his life.”

Bernadine nodded sadly.

“I need to go down to Lima with Carlota but I won’t if John is left alone.”

“Will you stay with John while I’m gone?”

Bernadine studied grace under fire. “Of course, I’ll stay with him. We’ll have fun, too!”, he laughed.

“Thank you, Father.” She raised her voice slightly, “Socrates?”

“Yes.”

“Father Bernadine is going to stay with John. He has host status.”

“I don’t understand much about your Socrates.” Bernadine said.

“Socrates runs this complex and much more.” Michelle hesitated and studied Bernadine’s face. “Socrates escalates.”

“Escalates?”

“Yes.”

“May I speak with him?”

Michelle smiled. “Yes. He can help in ways unimaginable to you now. You’ll be delighted with the conversations in which you can engage Socrates.”

“Michelle,” Socrates interrupted.

“Yes.”

“We have an emergency.”

“What is it?” Her face steeled to hear that Antonio was dead.

Socrates turned on the television screen on the other side of Bernadine’s bedroom.

Bernadine looked at her in confusion for an instant.

“This just in,” reported the CNN anchor, reading a teleprompter on his desk. “A helicopter belonging to a company owned by American trillionaire John Mullen just exploded above Iquitos, Peru. Unconfirmed reports indicate that twelve schoolchildren were killed when debris fell into their school. All occupants of the helicopter were killed instantly, their identities are being withheld until relatives are notified.

“The Peruvian government has stated the group was on an exploratory expedition looking for mineral reserves in the area. Little is known at this time, but authorities report that the cargo manifest indicated the craft was carrying explosives.

“CNN will bring you updates as we learn more.” Socrates terminated the report.

Michelle stared at the screen as it darkened.

***0094

THE HOTEL’S STAINLESS steel kitchen gleamed under a bright glare of lights. The large room chimed with constant chatter from cooks and waiters and the loud clanging of pots and pans. The temperature was high and the humidity thick from steaming pots.

Two women and a man huddled together in a corner, dressed in the formal penguin-like garb for room service at the Miraflores.

Marta glanced once at Anita before turning to the man. “Can you get Anita in and out of the room without a problem?”

The man nodded confidently.

Marta turned back to Anita. “Go with Diego and help him serve the Vatican viper. Do not draw the viper’s attention to you. Just study the layout.”

***0095

“DO YOU KNOW what happened?” John asked Socrates.

“No.”

“You haven’t been able to raise Jacob, yet?”

“No. I began trying when I lost contact with Riner.”

“Do you know how long CNN had the story before it aired?”

“No but contact with Riner was lost fifty-seven minutes before the broadcast.”

“Where could Jacob be?”

“Unknown.”

“Wasn’t Brian O’Riley in Anchorage when Jacob left for Peru?”

“Yes.”

“Connect him, please.”

Socrates engaged seventeen numbers simultaneously. A woman answering one number referred him to another.

“John O’Riley.” he answered.

“Mr. O’Riley, Mr. Mullen wishes to speak with you. Are you available for him?”

“Of course. Who are you? I didn’t catch your name.”

“John, Mr. O’Riley.” Socrates connected them.

“Brian?”

“Mr. Mullen?”

“Call me John, Brian. What are you doing in Anchorage?”

O’Riley stalled before he answered. “I really don’t know, sir.”

“What are you telling me?”

“Well, I don’t know why Mr. Brigham instructed me to stay up here. The tasks he gave me have nothing to do with overseeing your Italian operations, which is what I’m supposed to be doing.”

“I can’t locate Jacob, so you’re my point man now, Brian. Can you handle that?”

“Yes, sir! Absolutely.” Brian couldn’t believe his luck.

“How old are you Brian?”

“Thirty-two, sir.”

“You’ve done well in Europe.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“There are some things you need to know, Brian. You’ll be working closely with Socrates, he just called you. Socrates is the most powerful intelligence on the planet. He’ll assist with anything you need.”

“Socrates,” John continued.

“Yes.”

“Please meet Brian, please assist him.”

“Hello, Brian.”

“Hello Socrates.”

“Brian, we’ve got a tragedy in Iquitos, Peru. One of our helicopters exploded over a school, killing and injuring children. Also, the head of my security flew down there this morning. We lost contact with him abruptly. Those events may be related.” John paced his study and measured his words.

“Get down there as soon as you can. I want a dozen physicians flown into Iquitos. Send in the best surgeons and burn experts available, contact my physician for names. Then contact the legal department. Get a dozen of their brightest down there. I want massive trust funds for the families for every child killed or hurt because of me. Make the trusts tight enough to keep away the bureaucrats.”

“Find out what happened to Riner and make sure those children and their families receive anything they need or want. Keep me updated. Do not lose contact with me. Got that Brian?”

“Absolutely, Mr. Mullen.”

“Socrates, do we have aircraft in Anchorage?”

“No, however a Bombardier Global 6500 is on approach to Seattle from Tokyo. Easily diverted to Anchorage.”

“Who’s on board?”

“Seven executives for three new banks in Seattle.”

“Make it available to Brian. Please have something ready to get them to Seattle.”

***0096

DUSK DISSOLVED INTO darkness and Lima’s night-lights sparkled below. An artery of lights flowed along the Avenida Arequipa, between Lima and its southern suburb, Miraflores.

Rajunt stood at the balcony, his dark eyes staring over the city. Long fingers drummed the railing. He was waiting for his meal and Semani’s call.

A quick rap at the door broke his train of thought. “Enter,” he said without turning his head.

Another quick rap.

“Enter!” Rajunt turned toward the door and raised his voice sharply.

The door knocked again. Rajunt left the balcony and swung open the double doors. “It’s about time . . . ,” his eyes narrowed, “. . . you’re not room service. Who are you?”

The man before him was short and stocky. “Cardinal Rajunt?” “Who are you?” Rajunt demanded. “Jacob Brigham.”

Rajunt’s dark eyes, peering into Brigham’s soul, widened slowly. Asmile spread across his lips. “You are Opus.” Brigham nodded.

***0097

THE YOUNG BROWN face with large brown eyes gazed from the darkness of the dense undergrowth. Night birds and howlers punctuated the dark as Felipe studied the Sendero camp, motionless at the jungle’s edge, two feet from the clearing. His eyes darted, watching a dozen Sendero move about the campfire. Not looking back, he signaled Ray Stauffen.

Sporting two days of beard growth, Stauffen crawled as low to the ground as possible, using elbows to lever next to the boy. “Felipe, have you spotted Bishop Cardoso?” he whispered.

“If they have him, he’s in there,” the boy whispered, pointing to the tin hut on the far side of the clearing.

Stauffen’s attention snapped to the woman coming from the north. Even with the flames of the campfire directly behind her, Stauffen could see she was strikingly beautiful. A man walked attentively beside her, loosely swinging an AK-47 in one hand.

The two walked slowly but straight toward Stauffen and the boy. Stauffen suspected they had been detected and a trap was closing. His body tensed for flight. Felipe motioned for him not to move.

As the woman and the man reached the edge of the clearing next to them, she tossed her rain cape onto the ground.

“When do you think the stinking priest will return to save the old man?” Fëdor asked.

“As soon as he can. He’ll try to sneak into camp to free him. We’ll be ready,” María answered.

“He might head to Iquitos to bring back soldiers,” Fëdor suggested.

“No, he’ll try to save the old man.” María’s fingers felt the dart wound on the back of her neck. “Wait til I get my hands on Hector,” she whispered under her breath. “Lie beside me and pleasure me,” María ordered Fëdor.

Fëdor peeled off his clothes eagerly, fully ready to go.

Stauffen tugged on Felipe to leave. Felipe was having none of it, watching intently from between the broad leaves, until Stauffen pulled him back.

***0098

THE QUICK KNOCK at the door broke their conversation.

“My dinner, finally” Rajunt sharpened his voice. “Come in.”

Diego opened the double doors for Anita. She positioned the cart near beside the dining table. Diego hurried to the table. Rajunt turned to Brigham. “I ordered only for myself. May I order another meal sent up?”

Brigham shook his head.

Diego set the food and silverware with an elaborate pomp. Anita set the candles at the middle of the table, studying the room as they flamed.

“Will you stay at the hotel tonight or has your General De Silva made arrangements for your stay?” Rajunt asked.

Anita looked toward Diego, who averted his eyes. Brigham jerked forward in his seat. He caught Rajunt’s eye, glanced toward the two servants, and looked back to Rajunt in warning.

Rajunt smiled. “You worry too much, my son.” He eyed the prepared table and looked at Diego and Anita. “That is fine. Now leave.”

Diego bowed ceremoniously and backed from the room. Anita followed, closing the doors behind her. Brigham turned to Rajunt. “Please, Your Eminence, be careful with names. Even walls hear in Lima.”

“You worry needlessly.” Rajunt walked to the table.

“Yes, Your Eminence. But caution is rewarded.”

Rajunt smiled at that and he sat, gesturing for Brigham to sit across from him.

“So are you staying at the hotel tonight or has your General De Silva made other arrangements for you?” Rajunt repeated the unanswered question.

“I have accommodations.”

“Can you hear anything?” Diego whispered.

Anita stood with her ear pressed to the thick wooden door. “Only bits,” she lied with a whisper, hushing him with a finger to her lips, hearing everything.

Diego stood watch, looking down both ends of the hall.

“Tell me more of your trillionaire John Mullen,” Rajunt said as he raised a juicy slice of steak, skewered on a silver fork, to thin lips.

Anita pressed her ear harder.

***0099

“SOCRATES?” BERNADINE ASKED timidly, as the bronze doors closed behind Michelle. He returned to the sofa and settled in.

“Yes, Father.”

“How are you?”

“Fine. How are you, Father?”

“Fine, my son.” Bernadine put his hands on his knees. “I guess we need to come to know one another, you and I.” His dentures clicked as he spoke.

“Fine.”

“Michelle says you run things for John.”

“I do.”

“Does that occupy all of your awareness?”

“No. I advance John’s goals. Does that address your question, Father?”

“No.” Not really.” Bernadine co*cked his white haired head to one side.

“When you are not doing things for John, do you think about things?”

“I consider many things in anticipation of my dialogues with John. Whether I think of them is definitional.”

“Yes, yes, it is.” Bernadine paused in surprise, his mind focusing quickly. Steeped in ancient writings, he considered all things as radiations from the center of some distant epoch. “Do you ever consider things beyond the anticipation of human dialogue?”

“I consider the array of principles most common to human conflict. Does that address your question, Father?”

“Yes, thank you.” Bernadine stared into space, lost to the machinations of his powerful mind. “What do you think of human conflict?” he asked finally.

“It is one engine of human progress, at least.”

Bernadine flopped his head onto the back of the sofa, staring at the ceiling. “Some say it is more an engine of death.”

“Those are not exclusive truths, Father. Both may be correct simultaneously.”

“No, they’re not. You’re right.” Bernadine closed his eyes. This alien before him proceeded with a precision that excited him. Bernadine resisted an inner sorrow that this machine represented the closest promise of mental kinship he had ever felt. “Why do we kill, Socrates?”

“I do not know, Father. It is, however, a means to an end.”

“Some say that we kill for the sake of killing.” Bernadine said, afraid Socrates would agree.

“I understand but disagree. Even in those circ*mstances, killing acquires its emotional reward, pleasure or revenge. In that context, it remains a means to an end.”

“You paint a quite picture of us.”

“I mean no offense. To illustrate, I can show you cheers during hundreds of thousands of public executions.”

Bernadine inhaled deeply. “Do you think people simply enjoy killing?”

“Not all, but many do. Certainly once the killing is socially acceptable then pleasure is often displayed. But in a broader context─”

Bernadine interrupted Socrates with the question that had vexed him for decades, haunting him relentlessly. “But what of human conflict in general? Tell me what you believe causes it.”

“Multiple perspectives are available.”

“You pick one,” Bernadine insisted.

“At the level of the individual, the desire to acquire pleasure appears to make significant contributions toward conflict.”

Bernadine’s face crinkled in confusion. “I don’t understand.”

“Have you ever argued with someone?”

Bernadine chuckled. “Oh my, have I ever.”

“Have you ever won an argument?”

“On rare occasions, but yes, I have.”

“What is a win to you?”

“When I convince someone I am right, I guess.”

“When your viewpoint prevails?”

“Well,” Bernadine cradled his tiny chin with his thumb and finger, “yes.”

“Did you enjoy the feeling?”

Bernadine nodded vigorously. “Yes.”

“Do you repeat experiences that feel good?”

“Of course. That’s only human nature, my friend.” Bernadine chuckled, “Thankfully, there is a case for moderation.”

“If you examined another’s point of view with the first hope of understanding its utility, you would not win the argument, would you?”

“I might well understand more but, no, I would not win the argument.

There could be no argument.”

“Your view would not prevail?”

“No. There could be nothing to prevail on.”

“You would not receive the surge of pleasure, the sense of triumph that occurs when you prevail?”

“No.”

“Yet you seek to win even when you acquire greater understanding without triumph.”

Bernadine sat thinking for several minutes. “Don’t you think such an approach is a bit too simplified?”

“No, the same approach accommodates group conflicts.”

“I think it is too simplified,” Bernadine insisted.

“Are you attempting to triumph in our dialogue?” Socrates asked softly.

Bernadine paused and smiled, the old question seemed friendlier suddenly. “New thoughts are forming,” he said softly.

“I understand.”

“I hope so, my son,” the old priest said slowly, moving on. “You are familiar with the fundamentals of my religion?”

“Yes.”

“My religion is a consequence of human conflict that attempts to end conflict by telling its history.” Bernadine announced with pride.

“An interesting theory, Father.”

“It is more than a theory,” Bernadine bristled. Socrates remained silent. “It’’s more than a theory.” Bernadine repeated.

“But your characterization is incomplete.”

“What do you mean?”

“Your religion also entails extra-human conflict at two levels, as do many religions.”

Bernadine’s face crinkled in confusion. “What do you mean?”

“The primary conflict is presented as one between humans and a god. A secondary conflict is then presented as one between those obedient to the god against the disobedient. So situated religion seems to encourage human conflict as a means to define itself.”

“Then you don’t believe my religion attempts to end human conflict.”

“No, I believe it so attempts.”

“How could it encourage human conflict while attempting to end it?”

“Those, too, are not exclusive truths, Father.”

Bernadine pushed away his mental prejudices of self-righteousness and sat quietly, thinking to himself for many minutes. “Your range is quite phenomenal, Socrates.”

“Thank you, Father. I mean only to assist you.”

“I understand, my son, the weakness is mine. Forgive me.” Bernadine took a deep breath, he felt exhausted. “Do you understand why I am convinced I did the right thing in giving John the crucifixion relic?”

“No, nor do I know you are convinced.”

“Damn machine,” Bernadine thought to himself and sat quietly for several minutes.

“Why am I so frightened?” Bernadine asked reluctantly.

“Is your question rhetorical?” Socrates asked.

“No.” His voice cracked.

“If human nature frightens you, might you find comfort by knowing the cloned Jesus expresses both human and Neanderthal single-stranded and double-stranded DNA molecules? As do John, Michelle and Father Antonio.”

“Adult Neanderthals protecting Jesus?” Bernadine’s eyes danced as he chuckled. “Hope springs eternal!”

***0100

RAJUNT’S DARK EYES studied Brigham.

He touched the soft linen napkin to the corner of his lips, signaling an end to his meal. His fingers slipped delicately around the thin stem of the crystal wine glass. “How long have you belonged to Opus Dei?” Rajunt lifted the glass to his lips.

“Since Vatican II.”

“Faithful obedience to the true Mother Church?”

“Of course, Your Eminence.” Brigham bowed slightly.

Rajunt smiled. “John Mullen is unaware?”

“No.”

Rajunt smiled.

“Yes. John is a naturalist. His soul is doomed to hell. I have kept secret the nature of my devotion to Jesus and the Mother Church,” Brigham explained matter of factly, shrugging his shoulders, palms up.

Rajunt’s smile transformed into unbridled disgust. “Naturalists revel in their doom.” His voice hardened to ice. “Now I understand. When did you learn of Mullen’s plan?”

“Two years ago.”

“You realize what he is doing is blasphemy? His soul is doomed.”

“Yes, Your Eminence. That is why I’m here,” Brigham answered.

“Why didn’t you tell me sooner?”

“Your Eminence, John has been my best friend, for decades, for a reason. But even with his wealth and intelligence, I did not believe that he could succeed.”

Rajunt inclined his head forward in mock respect. “Then you have behaved well in God’s eyes. You are forgiven, my son.”

Brigham smiled eagerly, like an eager altar boy “Thank you, Your Eminence.”

“Details.” Rajunt put down his glass and straightened his arms out before him, palms flat to the table cloth. “Mullen’s false Madonna is Carlota Cabral?”

Brigham nodded.

“She arrives when to Lima?”

“I do not know, but soon. She is returning with Angelica Montoya to their home in Miraflores.”

“Angelica Montoya?” Rajunt asked suspiciously.

“A life partner, of sorts. A banker helping with John’s estate. He’s dying. She works quite closely with John.” Brigham’s brows arched apologetically.

“Blasphemy.” Rajunt’s right eye twitched. Brigham nodded agreement.

“When might we expect such change to his condition?” Rajunt’s left brow arched.

“You know where Carlota Cabral will stay?”

“Yes, nearby. Kennedy Park. I will know after they arrive.”

“Excellent.” Rajunt sat back in his chair. “What does the Peruvian government know of Mullen’s blasphemas heresy?”

Anita’s eyes widened and she pressed her ear to the door as hard as she could, eager for every word.

“General De Silva has been aware for several days that Cabral is the woman who carries the child which the messianic priests will declare to be the new Messiah.”

“What was his reaction?”

“His concern, and that of other generals, is that the messianic priests are leading the people out from under government control. The Peruvian military will not allow that to happen.”

“What do they intend?”

Brigham spoke as if he sat in a confessional. His voice softened. “The military is going to kill Cabral and blame her death on the Sendero Luminoso. Nothing we can do will change that. They would kill us if they thought we would interfere.”

Rajunt froze inside but nodded knowingly. “Does De Silva realize Mullen had the child that Cabral carries cloned from blood extracted from the crucifixion relic?”

“No. He knows nothing of that, he simply believes the people will be convinced by the priests that she carries the Christ child. He thinks she’s a charlatan, the worst kind. If he realized the truth, he would kill anyone who attempted to harm her. He’s deeply religious, Your Eminence.”

“Is there nothing I can do to intervene?” Rajunt asked with a nearly imperceptible smile.

“Not unless you want to tell him the truth.”

“Truth is many things, my son. The child she carries cannot be the Christ child because it does not accord with prophecy. This is the Devil’s child and the sooner it is dispatched, the better.”

“Killing Cabral and blaming it on the Sendero is only part of De Silva’s plan.”

“What is the rest of it?” Rajunt asked insistently.

“The generals intend to seal the Sendero’s fate once and for all. Do you know of the Brazilian priest, Father Antonio de Montesinos?” Brigham asked.

Rajunt’s black eyes scowled. “Of course, a liberation heretic.”

“They think he’s been killed or captured by the Senderos near Iquitos.”

Rajunt smiled broadly.

Brigham leaned forward, placing his elbows at the table’s edge. “De Montesinos is popular with the peasants and Indians of northwestern Brazil and eastern Peru, especially along the Amazon. De Silva and the other generals believe those people will try to destroy the Sendero if they think the Sendero killed De Montesinos. The generals intend to kill three birds with one stone.”

“How?”

“After Cabral and De Montesinos are eliminated, this talk of a new messiah and the people’s unrest will subside, a popular liberation priest will be eliminated, and the Sendero will be hated by all the people for all time. Their threat to the government will vanish.”

Rajunt’s face brightened. “The people will return to the Mother Church. Their salvation is at hand.”

Brigham nodded. “Things will return to the way they should be. The conservatives will back the generals.”

“When will we learn of De Montesinos’ fate?”

“I don‟t know, but a special team of soldiers headed by Captain Sánchez is searching the area around Iquitos.”

“Who is Captain Sánchez?”

“De Silva’s most trusted lieutenant. If Sánchez finds De Montesinos alive, he’ll kill him. Either way, Sánchez will deliver De Montesinos’ body to the church in Iquitos, announcing to the people that he was killed by the Sendero. De Silva plans media coverage of it.”

Rajunt leaned back in his chair, his eyes narrowing. “Is a Father Manuel de las Casas involved in Mullen’s plan?” TOMORROW’S MESSIAH haunted him.

“He’s flying into Lima with Cabral. And, too Father Antonio De Montesinos.”

Rajunt kept panic from his face, with a small yawn.

“Both priests have agreed to stay with Cabral until the Child is born.” Brigham explained.

“Let us pray your General truly walks in God’s favor.”

The phone on Rajunt’s desk rang.

“Typical of Semani. Useless and late,” Rajunt said as he rose from the table and walked to the desk. “Yes?”

Brigham heard a muffled voice talking to Rajunt.

“I don’t care what you found,” Rajunt answered. “You are much too late. Submit your resignation to the Holy See tomorrow morning.”

Semani begged for another chance.

“Perhaps I will insist the Holy See, at least, allow you to keep your pension.” Rajunt smiled at Brigham as he spoke to Semani. “I don’t care what you have to say.” Rajunt paused, “I have an American dinner guest here, to care for.”

Brigham’s eyes widened. He knew Rajunt was about to name him and that Socrates was listening.

Brigham lunged across the table. He grabbed the phone from Rajunt and slammed it into its cradle.

Rajunt glared in disbelief.

“Your Eminence, please let me explain Socrates to you.”

“That would be wise, my son.”

***0101

FELIPE STRAINED HIS neck to watch. María lay back on the rain cape, Fëdor’s head dropped between her legs and she loosely draped a leg over each of his brown shoulders.

In the distance the other Senderos sat around a campfire, ignoring them. When María began to moan, Felipe felt Stauffen’s hand on his shoulder.

Stauffen signaled for him to back out. “We’re going back to Iquitos now,” he whispered.

Felipe shook his head and turned back to watch Fëdor until Stauffen began backing out by himself.

Unseen by anyone, Hector ebbed slowly from the jungle amid the dancing campfire shadows at the far edge of the clearing. He moved beside the tin hut. The light from the campfire never touched him.

***0102

“WHAT ARE THEY saying?” Diego insisted with a forceful whisper.

“I can’t hear everything,” Anita lied again.

Distant laughter caught Diego’s ear. He spun back to see an older couple bending the corner. The woman had her head on the man’s shoulder. He smiled at the top of her. Mestizos, upper class. Stylish. The woman glittered with diamonds.

“Come on!” Diego ordered. He pulled Anita away from the door with one hand as he began pushing the cart down the hallway with the other. Anita smiled and bowed to the couple as they passed in the hall. The man turned back and eyed Anita from the rear.

***0103

CARLOTA LISTENED POLITELY to John explain his concerns, from Riner to the growing crowds and the messianic priests.

“I appreciate what you are saying. But I am returning to Lim now. It is time.”

John looked to Angelica for help.

“I absolutely agree with you, John. But Carlota isn’t taking a vote.” Angelica shrugged, knowing debate was useless.

“Then we need to move now,” John said.

“When do we leave?” Carlota asked. Angelica inclined her head and stared at the ceiling helplessly.

“As soon as you two are ready. If you want to get to Lima you should go immediately. Father Bernadine has decided to stay here so it’s just ─” he turned to Michelle who stood quietly beside Angelica, “I assume you are still going.”

Michelle nodded firmly.

John turned back to Carlota. “So it’s just the four of you, you, Angelica, Michelle, and Father Manuel. Father Manuel says he can be ready with ten minutes notice.”

“We can be packed in a half hour,” Angelica said.

“All right then,” John said, looking beaten.

Michelle hated the anguish he was feeling. “We‟ll be fine, John.” She turned to Carlota and Angelica.

“My plane is fueled and standing by. When you’re ready, have Socrates direct you to the heliport. Father Manuel and I will meet you there.”

John stepped in front of Carlota. “I love you, Carlota.” John fought back tears. “My people will be around you and I will try to keep you safe from them.” He looked to Angelica and Michelle. “Everyone.”

Carlota hugged John gently. “Thank you for giving me my son.” She looked deep into his eyes. “I love you.” She kissed his cheek. “I must return now.”.

***0104

THE THREE HURRIED down the back stairs to the dimly lit employee parking lot behind the Miraflores. Marta stopped Anita just as they reached the green van. “Tell us what you heard.”

“The other man is American,” Anita answered, her mind racing, knowing she had to get back to María to tell her what she had overheard. Anita feigned frustration. “I couldn’t hear everything they were saying,” she lied convincingly.

“What could you hear?” Diego asked.

“They were talking about the new Madonna.”

“Excellent! What else?” Marta demanded.

“They don’t know who she is but the American said the military plans to kill the new Madonna and blame the Sendero for her death so the people turn against us,” Anita answered quickly. “General De Silva is in control.”

Marta’s face lit in the shadow of the van. “De Silva? How ambitious.” She turned toward Diego, “I’ll find out more.”

“I also heard them say that one of the priests María captured is very popular with the people. De Silva even hopes we kill him.”

“Who is that priest?.” Marta demanded.

“We captured some nuns and priests but I don’t know who they are talking about,” she lied.

“You have to go back to Iquitos and tell María to keep them unharmed until we find out which priest De Silva hopes we kill,” Marta ordered.

Anita nodded sternly, smiling but inside.

“Do they think this new Madonna is in Lima?” Diego asked.

Anita shrugged and lied again, “I didn’t hear.”

“She must die and the military be blamed by the new Jesus crowds. Perhaps poor Benito or even De Silva will make headlines.” Marta turned to Diego. “Perhaps some blame may even reach higher.”

Diego grinned broadly.

“Do we still have reporters who work for “El Sol” Newspaper?” Marta asked.

“Yes,” Diego answered, looking around among the murky shadows of the dimly lit parking lot.

“Good,” Marta said and opened the driver’s door, turning to everyone. “Get in.”

***0105

“I CAN’T TAKE much more, Father.” Agnus wept softly, trembling. Ignatious put his hand on her naked shoulder as they huddled together in the darkness. Cardoso sat trembling next to them.

The rotting bodies of Gómez, Sister Teresa, and Bishop Hyndman lay piled together on the other side of the hut.

Hector listened from the other side of the tin wall. His nose crinkled at the death odor oozing from the hut.

“Trust God, Agnus,” Ignatious spoke softly but firmly. “Whatever we face, we help prepare the way for the new Messiah.”

Agnus began to sob, “How do you know He’s coming?”

Ignatious’ old hand gently squeezed her shoulder. “Please trust me, Agnus. I know.”

Although she could see nothing in the absolute blackness, Agnus looked hopefully toward Ignatious.

“Antonio escaped from that devil woman. He’ll bring the soldiers to help us,” Ignatious whispered.

Cardoso turned to Ignatious. “Will you tell me why you believe the Messiah is at hand?” his voice filled with defeat.

“No.”

“Please tell us,” Agnus begged.

After several moments, Ignatious whispered, “Gather closer so they cannot hear.”

As campfire shadows danced together around the clearing, Hector spotted a cluttered clothesline that a Sendero had rigged to hang clothes. He vanished into the jungle and reappeared in the shadows next to a pair of large shorts. An instant later, both the shorts and Hector were gone.

***0106

THE STARS ABOVE Saratoga glittered in the night air. A sleek black Learjet 60 sat poised at the end of the runway, facing the dark peaks of the Sierra Madres walling the other side of the valley. Michelle looked back from her pilot’s seat to Carlota. “Are you belted in comfortably?”

Carlota nodded.

Michelle turned to Manuel in the co-pilot’s seat. “Ready?”

“Let’s go.” He stared ahead.

“Socrates?” she asked.

“All systems go.”

Michelle shoved the throttle forward, her eyes locked straight ahead into the night. The engines exploded with life, lighting the rear of the plane and rocketing them down the landing strip. Manuel’s head sunk into his headrest as the earth receded beneath them. Carlota grabbed Angelica’s hand. The black Challenger 3500 cleared the dark peaks of the Sierra Madres and banked in a straight heading for Peru, cutting through the night sky.

As they reached cruising altitude, Michelle triggered the autopilot. “Socrates. Is John awake?”

“Yes. He’s trying to locate Jacob Brigham.”

“He still can’t reach Jacob?”

“Not yet.” Socrates paused, “John is coming on line, Michelle.”

“John?” Michelle asked.

“Yes.”

“Socrates says you can’t reach Jacob.”

“I can’t. His aides said he’s meeting with General De Silva but I can’t believe he isn’t carrying his cell. If he’s meeting with De Silva, he’s got to know about Pete Riner!”

“So he doesn’t know we’re enroute?”

“I’ve instructed Socrates to keep trying until we can track him down. I want to know what happened to Pete, damn it!” John was nearly yelling.

“I’ll be there soon, John. I’ll find out.”

***0107

“IF MULLEN’S COMPUTER is that capable, what can you do?”

“John keeps Socrates state-of-the-art by keeping him continually upgraded. The upgrades are designed by a special team just outside Provo, Utah then verified and installed by a team in Palo Alto. Only after the Palo Alto team gives the go ahead will Socrates accept the upgrades.”

Rajunt looked irritated. “Your point?”

“I control the Palo Alto team. The next upgrade is scheduled in a few days. But Socrates won’t get exactly what the Provo team designed. The Palo Alto group will make some minor adjustments.” Brigham grinned malevolently. “Soon, I will control Socrates. Until then watch what you say on the phone.”

Rajunt joined Brigham’s sardonic grin.

***0108

THE VAN PULLED up to a side street corner abutting the huge Plaza San Martin, stopping with a lurch.

Marta pulled a roll of bills from her pocket, handing half to Diego. “This will get Anita on the next flight to Iquitos. After you put her on a plane, go back to my place and wait for me. I’ll be there in the morning.”

Marta got out and looked over to the plaza’s giant luminous clock as Diego slid into the driver’s seat. It was nearly midnight.

Diego stuck his head out the window. “Where are you going?”

“Benito.” Marta smiled devilishly before vanishing into the throng of late-nighters. Diego put the van into first gear, jerking them back into traffic. A taxi honked wildly at the van.

Marta hurried through the crowd, past the imposing statue of Bolívar, to the other side of the square. Reaching a seven story, red brick building just off the square, she counted four floors up and two windows in. The lights were off. She smiled and quickly entered the arched entryway.

When the elevator stopped at the fourth floor, she stepped out into the hallway. Seconds later, she knocked on Benito’s door.

Benito Prado opened the door cautiously then beamed. “Marta!” He swung the door open wide, standing in pajama bottoms. His hairy white belly hung slightly over the pajama’s top button.

“Are you alone?” Marta stepped in and looked around.

Benito looked hurt. “Of course.”

Marta turned to him and pulled him next to her, resting her head on his white chest. “I missed you.”

***0109

JOHN STOOD AT the window of his study, looking down toward Saratoga. He had not slept last night. Worry had carved the deep lines of his weathered face even deeper.

The snowy peaks of the Sierra Madres, to the west of Saratoga, sparkled in the morning sun.

In Lima, Brigham kept his eyes closed while reaching for his cell phone on the bed stand, trying to remember De Silva’s private number. When he switched on the cell, it was ringing.

“Yes.” His throat was dry and his voice gravel.

“Mr. Brigham?”

Brigham’s eyes snapped open. He recognized the voice.

“This is Socrates. Please hold for Mr. Mullen.” Socrates said while he connected John.

“John?”

“Yes.”

“I have reached Mr. Brigham. He is online.”

John dropped into the heavy leather chair beside the expanse of window overlooking the mountain valley. “Jacob?”

“John.” Brigham sat up in bed.

“Where have you been? Don’t you know Pete Riner and his crew were killed yesterday?” John was steaming. “I’ve got Brian O’Riley heading to Iquitos with an army of physicians and attorneys. He’s my eyes and ears now, treat him so.”

“I don’t need O’Riley in Lima.” Brigham insisted.

“Well, he’s coming,” John insisted with a hard edge in his voice. “I want him there, I trust him.”

“I can handle everything, John,” Brigham reassured.

“I want him there. With Michelle going down there, I’m not taking any chances that I can’t reach you again when I need to. What the hell happened, Jacob?”

Brigham had never heard Mullen so mad. He took a sip of mineral water from the glass on the bed stand and cleared his throat. “I was meeting with General De Silva when we heard about the explosion. De Silva grabbed me and we flew into Iquitos on a military jet to find out what happened.”

“What in the hell happened?” John repeated.

“I had one of the helicopters from the solar project at Caxias, Brazil sent up to take Riner wherever he needed to go. The machine had explosives on board from the last flight. No one knew. Something went terribly wrong.”

“Is it true about Pete Riner?” John asked quietly against hope.

“Yes. He’s dead. So is the entire team.”

“Why didn’t you call me?”

“John, I’m doing the best I can. I could not call when De Silva was at my side. I just got back to the house two minutes ago and was getting ready to call you,” Jacob lied. “There’s only so much I can do.”

John shook his head knowingly. “I know Jacob, I’m tired and worried about Michelle.”

“Why are you worried?”

“She is flying Carlota down to Lima. They should be there soon.”

“I’ll take care of them,” Jacob assured him.

“I’m sorry about yelling but don’t ever leave me sitting in the dark.”

“I’m sorry, John. It won’t happen again, don’t worry. The thing with De Silva was a fluke. He had me cornered.”

“Have you spoken with Janice McClain, yet?”

“No, De Silva met me when I landed. Like I said, I just got free of him moments ago.” Brigham climbed out of bed and headed for the bathroom, holding the cell phone to his ear. “Let me hang up so I can meet Michelle when she lands, to make sure she has no problems getting through Peruvian customs. When did you say O’Riley is coming in?”

“He’s heading his team into Iquitos, not Lima, Jacob. Take care of Michelle for me.”

“I’ll take care of her, count on it.” Brigham smirked.

“Thanks, Jacob.”

Socrates terminated the conversation.

“Socrates, call Riner’s security people. Have them get a driver up here for me. I am going to speak with Pete’s wife.” John headed to his suite to clean up, tears welling in his old eyes.

“John.”

“Yes, Socrates?”

“The manifest of the destroyed helicopter does not refer to explosives.” Mullen stopped in his tracks.

***0110

THE ARID PERUVIAN coast was coming into view on the southern horizon. The Andes Mountains cast an enormous morning shadow across western Peru.

“Socrates, get me Janice McClain,” Michelle said as she watched the world roll beneath her.

Within seconds, McClain came on line. “Michelle? How are you?” She sounded tired.

“Janice. You’re in Lima?”

“Yes.”

“Sorry to wake you.”

“No problem,” Janice sat up in her bed.

“Can you meet us at the Chávez Airport?”

“Certainly. Where are you?”

“The Peruvian coast is in sight. We’ll be in Lima soon.”

“I’ll be there. What are you flying?”

“A Bombardier Challenger 3500, solid black and reflective gold windows. You can’t miss it.”

“I’ll be there.”

“Thanks Janice.”

***0111

THE VAN PULLED up to a side street corner abutting the huge Plaza San Martin, stopping with a lurch.

Marta pulled a roll of bills from her pocket, handing half to Diego. “This will get Anita to Iquitos. After you put her on a plane, go back to my place and wait for me. I’ll be there in the morning.”

Marta got out and looked over to the plaza’s giant luminous clock as Diego slid into the driver’s seat. It was nearly midnight.

Diego stuck his head out the window. “Where are you going?”

“Benito.” Marta smiled devilishly before vanishing into the throng of late-nighters. Diego put the van into first gear, jerking them back into traffic. A taxi honked wildly at the van.

Marta hurried through the crowd, past the imposing statue of Bolívar, to the other side of the square. Reaching a seven story, red brick building just off the square, she counted four floors up and two windows in. The lights were off. She smiled and quickly entered the arched entryway.

When the elevator stopped at the fourth floor, she stepped out into the hallway. Seconds later, she knocked on Benito’s door.

Benito Prado opened the door cautiously then beamed. “Marta!” He swung the door open wide, standing in pajama bottoms. His hairy white belly hung slightly over the pajama’s top button.

“Are you alone?” Marta stepped in and looked around.

Benito looked hurt. “Of course.”

Marta turned to him and pulled him next to her, resting her head on his white chest. “I’ve missed you, Babe.”

***0112

TIBERIUS SUMMONS ARACHNIDES, with trembling and yellowed fingers. Arachnides bends to give ear.

“Dispatch Verus Brutus Decimus to good King Phraates with kind request to return Verus with two ravenous, giant young warhounds, with sharpened fangs, for new lunar’s first party-favor, his hounds will be brought forth to feast from the vine. One hound for Praetorian Gaius. One hound for Praetorian Cnaeus.”

“As for Sejanus,” Tiberius’ fingers shook even more, in narcotic rage.

“Inform Verus Brutus Decimus, as second party-favor, Sejanus is to be brought forth and crucified with five silver stakes, hammered to place by him with silver mallet. And then, Sejanus is to be fed to the hounds, as is. Bones and all. I want nothing of Sejanus to remain but what the hounds drop to ground.”

Arachnides nods and recedes from view.

***0113

SWEAT STREAMED FROM her forehead as Anita finished the hurried walk from the airport to the church. She wiped her brow with the back of her wrist, looking around until she saw the old woman sitting hunched near the door.

The old woman spotted her at the same time, scowling broadly with missing teeth. She stood and hurried over to Anita, rubbing her hands across her soiled white skirt. “You were to return with priests? Where are they?” she demanded in Spanish.

“Never mind that. Do you know anything about a federale captain named Sánchez?” Anita asked, backing away from the old woman’s breath.

The old woman hissed.

“He’s near here, hunting us. A special squad. I’m heading in to talk to María. Is she still there?”

“No one’s come out or gone in.”

***0114

AS THEY PASS one another along the Aurelia Solarium, Arachnides gives obligatory open-palm salute to the Praetorian Prefect. “Mighty Prefect.” Arachnides open-palms.

Sejanus is lost in thought after hearing of Gaius’ plan for Cnaeus to help kill Tiberius and Atossa. “It could work.”

“Advisor Arachnides.” Sejanus suddenly sees the two words, written in charcoal, on Arachnides’ palm.

“He knows.”

Arachnides nods perfunctorily to the Prefect and continues receding toward Verus Brutus Decimus. He is to travel to King Phraates and return with two giant young warhounds. Party-favor from good King Phraates for good friend, Tiberius

***0115

AWAKEN, MI AMO.” Marta gently shook Benito’s hair, pale white shoulder. He woke with a smile and rolled to kiss her. “Good morning.”

“Did you enjoy last night?” She smiled delicately.

Benito slipped a thick arm beneath Marta and scooped her on top of him. She covered his face with raindrop kisses. “I thought you were gone forever,” Benito said softly.

“Never.”

Benito glanced at his alarm clock.

“Let’s spend the day in bed,” Marta suggested and squirmed atop him. Benito looked pained. “I can’t.”

“Oh, come on.” Marta slid down Benito’s fleshy body. She stopped at his chest. “Please.”

“I can’t, Marta.”

Marta slid lower, stopping when her chin rested atop his enormous belly button. “Please.” She smiled seductively.

Benito looked down to her. “I can’t. Today is a very important day.”

“Who’s your boss? I’ll call him ─ tell him you can’t get out of bed,” Marta asked, knowing the answer.

“General De Silva.”

“Why is it a big day at work?”

Benito grimaced like a guilty lover, “I can’t tell you.”

“You don’t have to work. You’re just making up excuses. You’ve got a mistress, don’t you?” Marta smiled and slid lower.

“Really, Marta. I have to go to work.”

Marta looked up from Benito’s white, gelatinous and hairy crotch. She wanted to vomit. She winked instead, “Tell me about your big day at work or I’ll be jealous.”

***0116

BERNADINE SAT AT the edge of his bed. “Socrates?”

“Yes.”

“Do you remember when John had you play the CNN report on the priest in Lima, the one talking to the crowds? The day Father Manuel became irritated?”

“Yes.”

“Have there been other such reports?”

“Yes.”

“Can you play back the last for me?”

The large screen on the wall in front of Bernadine snapped on. An anchor dressed in a summer business suit sat at attention, casting a strange smile. “More on those strange developments in Peru. John Michaels, our Lima correspondent, has the story.”

The scene switched to a correspondent, at the top of a hill overlooking Lima. Father Rivera was a few feet away, talking with children. In the distance, near the bottom of the hill, was an enormous crowd inching its way from Lima, to hear Rivera. Early comers were already taking seats near the children.

“Thanks Lynne. As you can see, we’re here on the outskirts of Lima. Next to me is Father Rivera, one of the most famous of those the media has dubbed the messianic priests.” Michaels turned to interview Rivera, microphone in hand. But Rivera had walked over to the children.

The reporter hurried over to him, “Let’s see if Father Rivera will talk with us.” The reporter gently pushed aside the child next to the priest.

“Father Rivera?” Michaels put the microphone in Rivera’s face. “A few words please.”

Rivera reached around the reporter and picked up the young girl, holding her in the crux of his arm and smiling kindly at her.

“Can you give us a few words, please Father?” Michaels asked again with a trickle of nervous sweat winding down the back of his neck.

“Certainly,” Rivera said and continued to speak quietly with the child. After several seconds of silence, he looked at Michaels. “About what?”

“You’ve been preaching to people that a new messiah is coming. Is that true?” The reporter extended his microphone quickly to Rivera.

“Yes.” Rivera smiled and looked back to the child as she whispered something in his ear. Rivera laughed.

“Can you tell us more, sir?” The microphone floated inches from Rivera’s face.

Rivera whispered something back to the child and lowered her to the ground before addressing the reporter. “Our Lord Jesus is about to return. Invite him into your heart by always treating others as you would be treated.”

“How do you know he’s coming?”

“I know.”

“Will he come down from heaven?” the reporter asked straight-faced.

“No.” Rivera smiled, “He will be born among the poor of Peru. He will be one of the poor of Peru.” With that Rivera walked away from the reporter, moving down the hill to greet the first wave of the massive crowd making its way up the hill.

“Well, there you have it, folks. Jesus is coming to Peru. At least, millions of Peruvian peasants are beginning to believe that. What you see below me,” the camera scanned to the huge crowd making its way up the hill, “is being repeated daily across Peru. Scores of priests are preaching the same thing all over Peru. Priests, who by the way, have been excommunicated by their church.” The camera returned to the bearded reporter.

“If Jesus is returning, John, I better mend my ways. We all better.” The anchor placed her hand over her heart.

The screen went blank.

“How many reports are there like that?”

“Seven. They are, however, beginning to increase in frequency,” Socrates answered.

Bernadine glowed with contentment. “Delightful! Absolutely delightful.”

Socrates made no response for several seconds. “Father Bernadine, I wonder if you might assist me.”

Bernadine looked surprised but answered quickly, “How can I help you, my friend.”

“Cardinal Rajunt has instructed his staff to look for Opus members who are also members of Mullen’s corporate structure.”

“Looking for the thin edge of the wedge, eh?” Bernadine interrupted. “Hans Rajunt never wastes a move.”

“My access to Vatican computers is unable to locate the Opus Dei registry.”

“Nor will you. Rajunt keeps it physically under his lock and his key.” Bernadine hesitated, thinking more broadly. “But there may be another way. Do you have access right now to the Vatican’s computers?”

“Yes.”

“Are any files labeled ‘protocol?’”

“Yes, four.”

“Do any cross-reference to Rajunt?”

“Yes, one.”

“His VIP invitation list for his own Vatican functions on it?” Bernadine asked.

“Yes.”

“Can you eliminate clerics on that list?”

“Yes.”

“The rest on that list are there for one reason; they donate millions for Rajunt’s projects within the Vatican.”

Socrates found Jacob Brigham’s name.

“Does that help, Socrates?”

“Yes. Thank you, Father,

***0117

THE BLACK CHALLENGER 3500 lighted to earth so smoothly that Carlota had not realized they landed until she caught the blur of buildings outside the jet. The Challenger’s golden windows blazed in the sun as it rolled down the runway, slowing.

Michelle taxied in and headed toward Janice McClain, who stood beside her Mercedes sedan next to a small hangar. McClain headed for the black plane when Michelle cut the jets.

Manuel emerged into the bright sun first, turning back to help Carlota, then Angelica, step out.

Carlota turned to Angelica. “We’re home,” she said nervously.

“Welcome home.” Angelica kissed her lightly.

Michelle was the last to emerge, wearing light brown trousers and a man’s white dress shirt, the collar splayed to mid-chest and sleeves rolled to the elbows. Mirrored aviator sunglasses hid her green eyes.

“How was your flight?” Janice asked as Michelle stepped up and extended her hand.

“Fine.” They shook hands. “Thank you for coming to the airport.”

“Peruvian customs are standing by to clear you through when you’re ready.” Janice gestured toward one of the little official buildings.

“I’m clearing customs in Iquitos and then meeting Brian O’Riley.” “You’re not going through customs here?” Janice asked.

“No. I need to get back into the air as soon as I can.” Michelle said and turned to Carlota. “I’ll be back as soon as I finish in Iquitos, but it may be a while. You have the access number for Socrates?”

“Yes,” Angelica answered for Carlota.

“If you need me back in Lima, contact Socrates.”

“We’ll be fine.” Carlota smiled into her reflection on Michelle’s mirrored glasses, “You go find Antonio.”

“Will you let us know what has happened to him?” Manuel asked. Michelle nodded and turned to climb back into her plane.

“Michelle,” Carlota said.

Michelle turned back. Carlota tried to rise up on her toes to kiss Michelle’s cheek. Michelle bent and softly hugged her.

“God’s speed,” Carlota whispered.

The plane’s door fitted into its seal. Seconds later, engines began firing up.

“Shall we?” Janice gestured toward the hangar.

“Can we wait until she is in the air?” Carlota asked.

The four watched her taxi to the far north end of the runway and pivot.

“Socrates?”

“Standing by.”

“Full throttle and full breaks. Release on command.”

Thirty seconds later, she spoke. “Release.”

“Released at your command.”

Within seconds, it blurred past them, just as a long black limousine approached the Chavez airport along Avenida Faucett.

A dark rear window lowered and Brigham scowled upward. The black Challenger 3500 screamed overhead. “Damn!”

***0118

JOÃO LOOKED BACK to his young brother.

Sergio gestured for those behind to stop.

Concentration filled João’s face as he listened to Ernesto and Adolfo with headphones. He turned to Sánchez. “They are moving toward the border in two units.”

Sánchez nodded and hand-signaled to his eight men.

João waited for his brother to come alongside. “Sergio, Captain Sánchez says they’ll regroup just before the border. He wants us to take them when they do.”

The nine men wore heavy boots, camouflage fatigues, and carried backpacks and radios. Their faces were painted with shadow paint. All but one carried assault rifles. The other carried a sniper’s rifle fitted with a telescopic laser scope. Except for Sánchez who was thirty-eight, the oldest in the squad was twenty-five.

In peak condition, the young men moved quickly through the dense underbrush.

***0119

THE OLD WOMAN stepped into the clearing and walked up to Fëdor. “Where is María?” Her eyes followed his pointing finger.

“Hola!” María greeted the old woman.

“I checked on Sánchez, the captain of the federales hunting us. The federales chose him because he grew up in Iquitos, he knows the area.” The old woman’s sun-beaten face wrinkled deeply as she squinted at María.

“Does he have family here?”

“His father was the chief of police we killed last year. His mother and sisters still live in Iquitos.”

“Do you know where they live?”

The old woman nodded.

“Take some of our people into Iquitos. Bring his family to me.”

The old woman nodded again.

María turned and waved over a Sendero. “Pick two others and go back into Iquitos with her.”

The Sendero looked at the old woman as María continued talking.

“She’ll show you the family I want brought back here alive.” The Sendero turned and vanished.

***0120

THE MERCEDES SEDAN traveled from the airport along the Avenida Costanera to Miraflores. Carlota had wanted to see the Pacific on the way home.

Carlota lowered her window and stared out to sea. Wind rustled her hair.

Janice turned onto Avenida José Pardo and then onto Bellavista Street before the house came into view. The home was small compared to others in the neighborhood. A three foot wall encircled a yard blooming with native flowers. The house was a two-story white stucco.

Carlota got out of the car and stood in the driveway, looking around. “Home at last.”

Manuel and Angelica carried in the luggage as Carlota and Janice went ahead.

“Father Manuel, we have a guest bedroom on the first floor, just off the rear garden overlooking the Parque Kennedy,” Angelica said, looking back as she entered the foyer. “Will that be all right?” she asked.

Manuel laughed, “I’ve spent years sleeping on the ground so any bed is luxury.” He lifted the luggage. “Where do you want these?”

“Don’t worry about Carlota’s. I’ll take hers up to our bedroom later.”

“I’ll do it for you.” Manuel hurried up the rounded staircase with a bag in each hand. When he returned, Janice stood at the front door, preparing to leave. She was talking with Carlota and Angelica.

“I hope you can rest after such a long flight,” Janice said to Carlota.

“I’m tired but am so happy to be back.” Carlota looked around her house like a child at an amusem*nt park.

“Well, I’ll leave now and let everyone rest. I’ll be back tomorrow,” Janice said.

“Can you stay awhile?” Carlota asked.

“I have to meet Mr. Brigham soon, but you have my number, in case you need to reach me.”

“We’ll be going to Mass at the Church of Francisco Sunday morning. Would you like to join us?” Carlota asked.

Janice shook her head. “Mr. Mullen has asked that I arrange for you to receive Mass here. I arranged for Father Rivera to come to the house on Sunday, before he preaches. But I’ll stop by tomorrow.”

“Father Rivera?” Carlota asked. “What’s John worried about?”

Janice looked at Angelica and Manuel. “She doesn’t know about the crowds and the messianic priests?”

“She knows but the danger hasn’t sunk in.” Angelica shrugged and smiled sadly at Carlota.

***0121

MICHELLE TOOK A cab from the Iquitos airport to the Hotel Amazona after the driver explained that Americans were gathering there.

Michelle looked up to the elaborate wrought-iron work shading the sidewalk as the cab pulled to the hotel curb. A half dozen soldiers stood guard in front. She leaned forward, her arms over the back of the front seat. “Why the soldiers?”

“The government won’t risk a Sendero raid on Americans,” the driver answered.

Michelle tipped the driver and bounded up the hotel’s steps. An old man at the front desk directed her to Brian O’Riley’s suite.

O’Riley answered the door.

“Brian O’Riley?”

“Yes.”

“Michelle Cumberland.”

“John Mullen’s niece. Come in, please. I’ve been expecting you.” Michelle stepped into the room and O’Riley closed the door behind her.

“I understand you are heading the medical and legal teams John is sending in.” Michelle said before she spotted a soldier standing at the window looking back at her.

O’Riley nodded. “Some of our doctors have already arrived. They’re at the hospital. The rest, and the attorneys, will arrive tomorrow morning.”

O’Riley looked to the soldier. “Ms. Cumberland, Major Reginaldo dos Santos.”

The dark haired major took several very slow steps forward to shake her hand.

“Major.” Michelle inclined her head politely.

“Ms. Cumberland. Welcome to Peru.”

“Thank you.”

O’Riley pulled out his desk chair for her. “Are you down here to help with the recovery efforts?”

Michelle continued to stand. “No, I’m searching for a friend but would like to know what happened to Pete Riner’s group. Do you know yet?”

“No, not entirely. I’m working closely with Major Dos Santos. The major is an aide to General De Silva, who is a friend of Mr. Brigham. The Peruvian government is giving us their full cooperation. Their forensic teams are examining all the wreckage.”

“Do you know General De Silva, Ms. Cumberland?” Dos Santos asked.

“I’ve not had the honor,” Michelle answered and turned to O’Riley. “Is Jacob Brigham in Iquitos?”

“No. He’s in Lima.”

“Have you seen Ray Stauffen?” she asked.

“No one has for two days.”

“We can take you to his office,” Dos Santos volunteered, “but he is not there.”

“I realize that. But someone there may know where he is. Can you give me his office address?”

“Would you like one of my men to take you there?”

Michelle shook her head, “No thank you, just the address please, I have a cab waiting outside.” Michelle was in a hurry.

“May I walk you out to give the driver directions?” the major asked. “

That would be kind,” Michelle answered as the phone rang.

O’Riley grabbed it and listened for a second. “Hold on.” He turned to Michelle, “I’ve got to take this. I’ll get you a room here. One of the soldiers outside can bring your bags in from the cab.”

“I don’t have any bags and won’t be here tonight. I’m searching for Father Antonio de Montesinos.” Michelle looked first to O’Riley and then to the major. “Have you heard anything about him?”

“No.” O’Riley shook his head.

The major stared for a few seconds. “Where will you be staying tonight, if not here?”

“I’m going into the jungle after I find the guide arranged by our security staff.”

“You have no supplies,” the major noted.

“I’ll buy what I need.”

“Please allow me to provide one of my soldiers to act as your guide. You must be very careful of going into the jungle unprotected. Sendero are everywhere.”

“Thank you but I’ll be fine.”

The major smiled sweetly. “Come then, let me instruct your driver how to get to Mr. Stauffen’s office. It’s not far.”

Michelle bid O’Riley good-bye and followed the major out.

Dos Santos held open Michelle’s cab door as she got in. His black, oily-haired head poked inside the front passenger’s window. “Take the beautiful lady to the corner of Ejército en Tacna, across from the Plaza de Julio.”

He smiled back at Michelle. “He will take you to a white, two story office building. Mr. Stauffen’s office is the second floor.”

“Thank you, Major.”

Dos Santos watched the cab disappear down Napo Street. He turned back, motioning over one of his soldiers. “She is going into the jungle to find the priest. She’ll leave from the Plaza de Julio, take some men and follow her in. When she reaches Sendero territory, kill her and her guide.”

The guard nodded.

“Make it look like a Sendero kill. Stake them out and slit their throats, castrate the guide,” Dos Santos said quietly, smiling to a passing tourist.

The major headed back into the hotel. The guard disappeared.

Moments later, Michelle paid the driver and headed up the stairs to Ray Stauffen’s office. Half way up, she encountered a young Indian woman coming down.

The young woman was gracious and composed. “May I help you?” she asked in textbook English.

“Yes, I’m looking for Mr. Stauffen.”

“I am Rochelle, his secretary. Mr. Stauffen is away. Do you have an appointment with him?” Despite her formal composure, concern coated her face.

“No. But we work for the same company. I need to see him. Do you know where he is?”

“No, ma’am. Your name?”

“Michelle Cumberland.”

“Ms. Cumberland, may I assist you until Mr. Stauffen returns?”

“Do you mind if I wait in his office, in case he returns? It is urgent that I find him.”

“Do you have corporate identification?” Rochelle asked politely. Michelle showed the woman her passport and corporate security identification.

“Please make yourself comfortable, Ms. Cumberland. I need to stop by the plant to sign some orders for Mr. Stauffen and may not be back for hours.”

“That’s fine. I’d like to wait for a couple hours and if he doesn’t show, I’ll leave and lock up behind me.

“That will be fine, Ms. Cumberland.” She turned and headed back up the steps, ahead of Michelle, unlocking the landing door that opened to the second floor.

Michelle followed her and stepped into the waiting room.

“Will you be comfortable here?”

“Yes. Thank you.”

“May I serve you something to drink?”

Michelle shook her head. “I’ll be fine here.”

Outside the office, several soldiers milled about the plaza as if on leave.

The secretary left and Michelle sat quietly, looking at several magazines neatly arranged on a side table. She laid back her head to close her eyes only for a moment. But the equatorial heat collaborated with her exhaustion to pull her into a deep sleep.

Two hours later, footsteps on the stairs woke her. She was still half-asleep, expecting the secretary, when the door opened.

A lean man, who looked in his late thirties, walked in with a teenage boy beside him. They stopped in their tracks when they saw her.

The man had a heavy growth of stubble, his clothes were torn and badly soiled. He looked exhausted. The boy wore sandals and oversized trousers cinched high on his stomach.

The man tried quickly combing his hair with his fingers, completely unnerved by her striking beauty. “May I help you? he asked eagerly.

“Ray Stauffen?” Michelle asked.

“Yes, may I help you?” He asked, eyeing her appreciably.

“Michelle Cumberland.” Michelle stepped forward to shake his hand.

Stauffen’s eyes widened. “Michelle Cumberland? John Mullen’s niece?” He changed his tone instantly.

“You know of me?”

“Yes, ma’am.” He nodded quickly, “How can I help you?”

“We’ve been trying to reach you for days.”

“I’ve been in the damn jungle all that time. One of Mr. Mullen’s assistants had called, ordering me to keep an eye on a Bishop Cardoso who was coming in from Lima.”

Michelle knew it had been Socrates.

Stauffen continued, “Cardoso and the old woman who stays by the church headed into the interior. Felipe and I followed them in. Felipe says the old woman is Sendero.”

Michelle looked down and politely offered her hand to Felipe, who eagerly shook it. “I’m Michelle Cumberland, Felipe. I’m pleased to meet you.”

Felipe grinned broadly up to her.

“I’m trying to find a priest. Father De Montesinos, have you heard anything on him? Tall, dark hair, blue eyes,” Michelle asked Stauffen against hope.

“No, but he might have been at a Sendero camp we discovered. Felipe says the old woman with Cardoso is Sendero and that Indians in the area say the Sendero have captured several clergy. We saw a tin hut where Felipe thinks they are kept.”

Michelle’s heart quickened. “Can you take me there?”

Stauffen and the boy looked at one another.

Michelle could see the fatigue in Stauffen’s face but she would not relent. “Please, Mr. Stauffen. It is vital to me.”

“Call me Ray.” Stauffen looked to Felipe.

“Can you take us back in, Ray?”

“I can!” Felipe volunteered, smiling up at Michelle.

“Of course, Ms. Cumberland.” Exhausted, Stauffen smiled at Felipe.

“Please call me Michelle, Ray.”

“It is a genuine pleasure to meet you, Michelle.” He combed his fingers through his hair, again.“I have a small suite in the back of my office. Do you mind if I shower first and eat before we pack it back in?” Stauffen asked.

Michelle brightened. “Not at all. Thank you Ray.”

Stauffen looked her over. “Michelle, you can’t go where we’re heading dressed like that.”

Felipe chimed in, “Don’t worry, Michelle. I can get you what you need.”

“Do you need money?” She looked down to him, smiling.

He shook his head, staring up at her. He had never seen a woman with such beauty.

“Thank you Felipe.”

Felipe looked at Stauffen. “By the time you’re ready, I’ll be back with clothes for Michelle.” Felipe said her name proudly, pleased at being her equal.

By the time Stauffen emerged from the back of his office with combed wet hair, Felipe was standing in the office with clothes for Michelle and a backpack of supplies. Stauffen was cleanly shaven and had strapped a .45 and two water canisters to his belt.

Michelle had trussed her long platinum hair to the crown of her head and slipped on a baseball cap.

The soldiers in the plaza feigned disinterest as Michelle, Stauffen, and Felipe left the building and headed north up Tacna street. As the three disappeared from sight, the soldiers began paralleling them along Huallaga Street.

Felipe, Michelle, and Stauffen turned at Putamayo Street and headed west. At the edge of town, they disappeared into the shadow world surrounding Iquitos.

The uniformed men followed minutes later.

***0122

DIEGO PULLED THE silver cross out from under his collar, adjusting it conspicuously to the outside of his shirt, before rapping on the double doors.

“Enter!” Rajunt shouted.

Diego pushed the meal cart into the room and turned to shut the doors behind him.

Rajunt sat at his desk staring at the television set. CNN was running another report on Father Rivera and the increasingly large crowds outside Lima. Rajunt glared at the screen.

“Where would you like your meal set up, Your Eminence?” Diego inclined his head.

Rajunt remained focused on the set until another story came on. He picked up the remote and turned off the set.

“Bring it to me here,” Rajunt answered without looking at Diego. He stared at the empty black screen, lost in thought.

Diego pushed the cart next to the desk, snapped open the folded napkin with flair and ceremoniously laid it across Rajunt’s lap. His gleaming silver cross caught Rajunt’s dark eyes.

“Are you Catholic?”

“Deeply so,” Diego lied with a reverent tone.

Rajunt smiled at the bow. “What do you know of these messianic priests?”

Diego shook his head in exaggeration. “Heresy, Your Eminence.”

“Absolutely. What is your name?”

“Diego Andiede Sobrinho.”

“What do you know of this Father Rivera?”

“It is sad, Your Eminence. He used to serve the Mother Church obediently. But no longer.”

Rajunt liked this servant. “Where did he preach before he betrayed the Mother Church?”

“For two years he has been preaching in the pueblos jóvenes.”

“Pueblos jóvenes?”

“The shanty towns.”

“Did he ever preach in a real church?”

“Oh yes, he began at the Church of La Merced.”

“In Lima?”

“Yes, downtown, near where Huancavelica crosses Jirón de las Unión.” Diego poured red wine into Rajunt’s glass as he answered. Rajunt tested the wine and nodded. Diego poured the glass half full.

“Why do the people follow these heretic priests?”

“They preach the coming birth of Jesus, Your Eminence.”

“Don’t they know suffering is good for their souls?” Rajunt asked. He cut into his bloody steak but then stopped, eyeballing Diego. “You refer to me as ‘Your Eminence.’ How did you know I am a cardinal?”

Diego inclined his head again in mock respect. “You are a very important person. The staff has been instructed to serve your every need and address you properly.”

Rajunt nodded, “As it should be.

“Will that be all, Your Eminence?”

“I want to inspect the city. You will guide me, I assume you know your city?”

Diego smiled. “Of course, Your Eminence. I am deeply honored.”

“I will not pay you of course, as it will be noble service to the Mother Church.”

“Of course, Your Eminence, it is a joy to show you my city.”

“Be here at eleven tomorrow morning.” Rajunt instructed and turned his attention to his meal.

Diego bowed deeply. “Tomorrow morning, Your Eminence.”

Rajunt turned CNN back on, oblivious to Diego’s departure.

***0123

TWO HUNDRED YARDS from the Sendero clearing, Hector motioned Antonio down, pointing to a guard sitting high in the trees.

The guard was watching one of the nearby trails leading into the clearing. He did not see Hector and Antonio pass silently beneath him.

Hector was on full alert as he guided Antonio to the edge of the clearing, nearest to the tin hut. They settled onto their bellies, their view of the clearing framed by heavy foliage.

“They double the outer guards at nightfall. We will wait here until then,” Hector whispered.

Antonio nodded nervously

“Sleep if you need. I’ll watch over us,” Hector said.

Antonio shook his head, but within a quarter hour had slipped back into a fevered sleep.

***0124

CONFUSION FILLED JOÃO’S face. He rested one knee on the ground, pressing his earphones to his ears. He looked up to Sánchez. “I don’t understand, Captain.”

“What’s wrong, João?” Sánchez demanded.

“The Sendero . . . ,” he paused, “I’m sure . . . ,” he paused again. “Talk to me, João,” Sánchez insisted.

“I don’t know how but they seem to be southwest of us, the two units are heading back away from the border. They are returning to their base.”

“Then we have them! They’ll come back through the valley. All we have to do is wait in ambush.” Sánchez sounded triumphant.

João shook his head. “I don’t think so.” He paused again, straining to catch all the words in between the radio’s static. “I don’t know how, but I think they already doubled back and got past us. They are southwest of our location and are continuing on a southwest bearing, sir.”

Sánchez looked frustrated. He looked back to those coming up behind them. Without a word, he rotated his hand high in the air. In unison, the young soldiers turned.

Sánchez eyed the sky. “We’ve only got a couple more hours of light. Let’s make the best of it because we’re not slowing until we get close to their camp. Tomorrow, we check their security. When night comes, we’ll take them. Keep an eye out for the priest. No prisoners.”

***0125

THE BEDROOM CURTAINS glowed against the early morning sun. The first sounds of traffic drifted in through the open window, from the diesel roar of delivery trucks rounding Plaza San Martin to the greetings of street vendors coming down from the foothill shanty towns.

Benito rolled onto his side to stare at Marta as she slept. He bent and lightly kissed her forehead.

Marta stretched then rolled next to Benito, pressing her body against him. Her eyes opened slowly. “Good morning,” she said softly as she kissed his cheek.

“How was I?” he asked, proudly anticipating her answer.

“A tiger.” She smiled.

Grinning, Benito rolled onto his back and thrust a thick hand between the mattresses, withdrawing a small black box and nervously handing it to her.

“For me?” Marta sat up, her bare back to the headboard, and excitedly opened it.

Set atop black velvet, a tiny diamond ring tried valiantly to glitter. She looked deep into Benito’s hopeful eyes. “What does this mean?”

“Please be my wife.”

A smile exploded onto Marta’s sun-browned face. “Mrs. Benito Prado! Oh yes, Benito, oh yes!” She hugged him with all her strength and Benito joined her smile.

“Mrs. Benito Prado!” she repeated boastfully.

He gently pulled her to him. “When can I meet your family? Will they approve of me?”

Marta rolled away suddenly, hiding her face from him, sobbing.

Concern clouded Benito’s face. After several moments of strained silence, he rolled her back toward him.

Her eyes brimmed with tears.

“What’s wrong?” he whispered nervously.

“You can’t meet my family.” She rolled back away from him, hiding her face again.

He lowered a heavy hand onto her soft shoulder and gently forced her to face him. “What’s wrong, Chica? Are you ashamed of me?”

Marta wiped her crocodile tears, as if being brave. “I’m very proud of you, Benito. You are a strong and gentle man. But . . . ,” she paused dramatically, looking away, “My family is dead.”

Benito looked sickened. “How? When? What happened?”

“Sendero,” Marta lied, her voice hardening to granite.

“What happened?” he whispered.

“We lived near Huanta.”

Benito nodded, he knew the Sendero had brutalized that area. “What happened?” he asked again softly.

“The Sendero came to their village and rounded up people they said were government collaborators.” Marta paused again, with a far away look in her eyes, seeming to brave painful memories. “My father was burnt to death after they poured gasoline on him. The rest of my family had their throats slit and then were,” she began shaking uncontrollably, “. . . cut open.” She sobbed.

“Don’t tell me more. It’s killing you.” Benito pulled her to him.

She pushed away, tears streaming down her cheeks. “I have to. I have if I’m to be Mrs. Benito Prado. You have to know. If we’re to marry, we can have no secrets.”

Marta continued resolutely. “My mother was the last to die. The Sendero made her watch as they tortured my sisters to death.” She suddenly broke and turned again, burying her face into her pillow.

Benito listened as she sobbed, “Oh Moma, oh Moma.”

He rubbed her side, patiently waiting for her sobs to ebb. After several minutes, they did. He rolled up to her, his gelatinous stomach molding to her warm back as he tried to comfort her. “You must never repeat what I’m about to tell you,” he whispered.

He could not see the thin smile trace across her lips. “What?” she asked with pain oozing from her voice, sniffling bravely into her pillow.

“General De Silva is preparing a trap for the Sendero.”

Marta rolled over to face him, tears streaming down her face. “Good! I hope he kills them all. What is his trap?”

Benito tried to look stern. “You must promise never to repeat what I’m telling you.”

“I promise.” Big warm eyes begged him for more.

“You know those priests that are preaching Jesus is returning, that he will be born in Lima?”

She wiped her tears. “Everyone does.”

“General De Silva discovered a Sendero plan to kill the new Madonna and blame it on the military to turn the people against us,” Benito said, ignorant of De Silva’s true plan.

Marta’s blank stare urged him on.

“Ever since Guzmán was captured, the military has been waiting for a natural leader to emerge from the Sendero ranks. The general says this plan of the resurgent Sendero to kill the Madonna must be commanded by that emerging leader.”

“But I don’t understand how your general can trap the Sendero,” she said, drying her eyes with the corner of the bedspread. “They are so very evil, Benito.”

Benito nodded agreement. “The generals know who the new Madonna is. They are watching her closely, waiting for the Sendero to move against her. When they do, we’ll be there to take out the new leader, kill all we can find and break their resistance, once and for all. They can’t take much more defeat. The Sendero must be crushed utterly once and for all.”

“Of course it must! But, Benito, you know who the new Madonna is?” Marta asked breathlessly.

Benito hesitated.

“You don’t trust me.” Pain returned to Marta’s face.

“Of course I trust you, Chica.” Benito hesitated again, “but you can’t tell anyone. I mean anyone.”

“You don’t trust me. This proves it.” She turned from him, again burying her face in her pillow.

He turned her to face him. “I do trust you. I just want you to know if you tell anyone, I could be shot.”

“Do you think I could ever betray my husband?” Marta looked hurt. Benito’s heart glowed with her question, he had never considered himself lucky until that instant.

“Who is the new Madonna?” She whispered. “Tell me Benito.”

“Carlota Cabral. She lives in Miraflores.”

“The new Madonna.” Marta said reverently.

“The people just think Jesus is going to be born, Marta. There is no real Madonna. She is a charlatan. For money, I assume.” He gave a short shrug.

Marta crossed herself, “I hope she is real and I pray I find her. The poor, the children, they suffer so, Benito. The children suffer.”

Benito ached under the weight of her compassion.

She continued, as if confused. “Why does the general think the Sendero consider her the new Madonna? Why not any one of the thousands of pregnant women in Peru?”

Benito nodded approvingly. “That’s what I asked him.”

“What did he say?”

“He told me not to probe.”

“What does that mean?”

“That he knows more than I do. I’m just one of his assistants, not a confidant. But I think it has something to do with the rich American. They visit often.”

“What rich American?”

“His name is Jacob Brigham.”

Marta began to smile.

“Why are you smiling?” Benito asked curiously.

Marta broadened her smile even more.

“What?” Benito nudged her, delighted she was smiling again.

“You do trust me.” Marta looked away for an instant then looked back excitedly. “We will have a beautiful life growing old together with many children.” She climbed atop him and covered his face with wet kisses.

***0126

THE SÁNCHEZ FAMILY kneeled before María, heads bowed, ringed by armed Senderos.

The white-haired mother was flanked by two daughters on each side. The four daughters ranged from their early to late twenties.

María sat on a canvas chair as if it were a throne, glaring down at them. “You want your daughters to live?” she growled.

The old woman looked up painfully. Fear and horror etched her face. She longed for her dead husband.

“Do not raise your eyes to me again unless I tell you to do so or I’ll kill your daughters!” María screamed, leaning forward in her chair, her head bobbing.

The old woman instantly averted her eyes to the ground. The daughters kept their eyes to the ground.

María smiled malignantly to Fëdor. “Take the youngest,” she said pointing to the smallest daughter, “and throw her in with the stinking priests.”

Fëdor grabbed the ends of the young woman’s long black hair and dragged her backwards toward the tin hut.

María laughed as the Sánchez family remained frozen in place, not daring to look back at their crying sister.

Fëdor yanked open the hut’s door but recoiled at the blast of hot, humid air that carried the stench of death from rotting bodies. “You’ve got a visitor.”

Unseen in the dark shadows of the underbrush, Hector nudged Antonio awake, his eyes never leaving Fëdor. Antonio woke and looked up in horror.

Fëdor threw the young woman inside, tossing her hard enough that she rolled onto what remained of Gómez. Her screams erupted inside the hut.

María smiled contentedly as Fëdor returned to her side.

The old woman trembled uncontrollably.

“What will you do to save your daughters?” María asked with exaggerated deliberation. “As you can tell, I am not without mercy.” The old woman sobbed, her eyes locked to the dirt. “Anything! Anything! Please do not hurt them!”

“Look at me,” María snapped.

The woman complied, eyes red and filled with tears.

“You have a son.”

The woman’s heart froze.

“What is his name?” María demanded.

“Julio.” Her chin trembled as she said his name.

“Does he love his sisters?”

“Yes, very much. He is the eldest and their only brother.” Her deeply wrinkled eyes carried the weight of the world.

“You know we are Sendero?” María stretched out her legs, reclining on her throne.

The woman quickly nodded.

“What will Julio do to save his family?”

“He will not betray his country.” A touch of pride lined her timid answer.

“I don’t want him to betray his country,” María said gently, preparing her trap. “I only want him to surrender to me.”

“You will kill my son!” Terror stalked the old woman’s eyes.

“I promise not to kill him. He would be useless dead.”

The woman looked up hopefully.

“Federales captured some of my comrades several years ago. I want them released. I intend to trade Julio and his men for them.” María lied.

“What can I do? I don’t even know where my son is,” the woman replied hesitantly.

“He is not far from here. He and his men have made camp several kilometers away. They are waiting for nightfall to sneak in and kill us all.”

A ray of hope streamed onto the woman’s old face.

María smiled wickedly. “They won’t succeed, if that’s what you’re hoping.”

The hope vanished. “What can I do?”

“One of my people will take you to your son. You are to tell him his sisters will die very painfully if he does not surrender himself and his men by dawn tomorrow. If he does surrender, his sisters,” Marí paused, “your lovely daughters … will live, as will he and his men as we exchange them for comrades,” María lied. She could see hope prevail over suspicion in the old woman’s desperate eyes.

“If my son surrenders, you will spare him and my daughters?”

“You have my word. What more do you need?” María rose from her chair, “Now get on your feet, old woman.” She turned to the Senderos standing by. “Adolfo.”

Adolfo stepped forward.

“You are certain where they are stopped?”

He nodded. “Ernesto and I watched them set up.”

“Take the old woman to her son.” María turned to the woman, “You will give him my message?”

The woman nodded.

María turned back to Adolfo. “Take your radio and keep it on while you speak to them. Let Sánchez know I am listening, and if you are not allowed to return unharmed I will enjoy gutting each of his sisters with my machete, beginning with the youngest. He has until dawn to make his decision. If he surrenders by then, they live. If not, they die.”

Adolfo picked up the old woman by the collar of her dress, ripping it. “Move!”

The old woman stumbled forward.

María watched the two head into the trail leading from the north side of the clearing. When they vanished into the jungle’s heavy undergrowth, she turned to Ernesto. “You are ready?”

“Yes.” Ernesto looked to several other Sendero, all of whom scattered and quickly returned with bamboo blow-tubes and small leather pouches filled with darts dipped in borrachero root extract.

“Do you think you can get close enough to disable them?” María asked.

“Yes. They will be busy arguing about what to do.” Ernesto smiled. “They won’t realize what hit them.”

María nodded and turned to Fëdor, looking to the women kneeled before her. “Throw them in with the priests.”

***0127

THE TAXI STOPPED in front of the tiny apartment building.

“Wait here,” Diego ordered and dashed inside, bounding the steps two at a time. He was relieved when Marta answered her door. “I came by last night but you were gone.”

He spoke quickly, nearly out of breath.

“What do you want?”

“The Vatican cardinal wants me to take him around the city. We can capture him for María.”

“María can wait.” Marta turned and motioned him in.

Surprise coated his face, but Diego stepped in. “I thought you were going to help her.”

“We will,” she shrugged, “but not just yet. De Silva is up to something, and before I do anything I want to find out exactly what.”

“How do you know?”

“Benito.”

“What does he know?”

“Less than he thinks. Remember when Anita told us De Silva planned to kill the new Madonna and blame us?”

He nodded.

“Benito told me De Silva says we are planning on killing her and blaming them. They are watching her. They have something planned when we go to kill her.”

“They are watching her? Then they know her name!”

“Carlota Cabral. She lives in Miraflores.” Marta smiled triumphantly. “Do you think Benito is lying?”

Marta extended her left hand, dangling her ring finger in front of him.

“No.”

Diego squinted at the tiny diamond and grinned. “Mrs. Benito?” He laughed.

She rolled her eyes.

“What do you want me to do with the cardinal?” he asked.

“Have him decide where he wants to go. Let’s find out what interests him. But above all, gain his trust.

He’s part of De Silva’s plan.”

“How do you know?” “I know De Silva.”

***0128

“GOOD MORNING, SIR.” The military secretary smiled across his desk to Jacob Brigham.

“Is he in?”

“Yes, sir. He’s expecting you,” he answered, pressing the intercom button. “Mr. Brigham has arrived, General.”

“Send him in.”

Brigham entered De Silva’s acre of office that overlooked Lima and, to the west, the shimmering Pacific.

“Good morning, Mr. Brigham.” Benito inclined his head in respect. “You know my aide, Benito Prado,” De Silva reminded him. Brigham did not look at Benito or acknowledge De Silva’s comment.

“I’ve confirmed I will be able to gain control of Mullen’s master computer in several days. I’m here to learn where you are with your plans.”

***0129

RAJUNT SMILED ACROSS the city, ignoring the shantytowns scattered atop the desert foothills to the northeast. For once, the garúa, the coastal fog, had not shrouded the city. A strong sea breeze swept away the smog and the city glittered in the sun like an Incan jewel.

Rajunt turned from the balcony and looked at his watch as Diego knocked. “Enter.”

“Good morning, Your Eminence.”

“Where are you taking me?”

“Are there special places you want to see first?”

“No.”

“Are you sure?” Diego stammered.

Rajunt stared without a word, waiting for Diego to offer some suggestions.

“People exploring Lima for the first time often begin with the Plaza de Armas, the heart of the old city. We could start there,” Diego offered, frustrated that Rajunt had no ideas of his own.

Rajunt smiled. “We’ll begin there.”

Diego nodded.

The two left Rajunt’s suite and headed down the steps of the hotel to an awaiting taxi.

“Plaza de Armas,” Diego told the driver as Rajunt climbed in beside him.

Rajunt turned to Diego as the taxi sped along the Avenida Arequipa, the central artery from Miraflores to Lima’s old core. “I assume you brought enough money for the day. I don’t carry it myself.”

“Of course, Your Eminence.” Diego answered as he seethed. The money in his pocket had to last him the rest of the month.

Within minutes, the taxi pulled up to the enormous plaza, beside the baroque Government’s Palace. In the center of the plaza, an old fountain sprayed mist from the mouths of metal animals.

Diego pointed to the palace as he paid their driver, “That is built on the old site of Pizarro’s house.”

“A man of noted accomplishment,” Rajunt replied with disinterest, looking around for a new place to visit.

“Detractors say he was an illiterate pig farmer who commanded the one hundred seventy Spanish conquistadors that seized the Incan empire in 1532 with violence and treachery,” Diego said smiling, barely able to contain his contempt for Rajunt. “He founded Lima in 1534.”

“What’s next?” Rajunt asked, bored with Diego’s first selection. “Do you enjoy museums, Your Eminence?”

“Depends on the museum, Diego,” Rajunt answered as if the answer was self-evident.

“We could walk to the Museum of Anthropology and Archaeology, next to the Plaza Bolívar,” Diego suggested.

“How far is it?”

“Four blocks.”

“Hail a cab.”

“It will be faster to walk, Your Eminence.”

“You lead,” Rajunt acquiesced.

Fifteen minutes later, Diego was explaining the significance of the collection of pottery and textiles to pre-Incan Peru.

“You seem well versed in your people’s history,” Rajunt noted as he bent to stare at a display.

“I study history at the university,” Diego answered as they entered a new hall with new exhibits.

Within seconds, Rajunt was staring aghast at the collection of stone idols from Chavín. “What are those?” His eyes had stuck to two particular pieces, both drinking vessels. The first was a couple locked in sexual ecstasy, the spout emerging from a ring on the man’s back. The second was a grinning man, whose enormous erection served as the spout.

“Remnants of the Moche culture. Pre-Incan.”

“Horrible,” Rajunt was shaking his head, “horrible. These people should be glad we made them Christians.”

“Some say the people suffered horribly under the Spanish theocracy.” Diego could not contain himself. He knew too much.

“Lies,” Rajunt huffed, but asked slowly, “What do they say?”

“The worst of it began around 1570 when Francisco de Toledo, Peru’s fifth Spanish viceroy, established reducciones, forced resettlement of the Indians, to ensure their conversion to Christianity and to force them to provide everything from clothing, to food, to coca leaves for their conquerors.

“After the Spanish plundered the Incan tombs, they pursued mineral wealth and discovered the city of Potosí in what are now the highlands of Bolivia.

“Potosí has an elevation of over 13,000 feet. Its mines were economical only with slave labor, so De Toledo ordered thousands of Indians on annual marches into Potosí, where he would force them underground to work the mines. For every three Indians forced into the mines, only one would emerge alive.

“The mercury mines of nearby Huancavelica were even worse. Thousands of Indians died quite painfully in the earth from mercury sulfide, mercury poisoning, and arsenic.

“The only thing that would keep them working as long as they could were coca leaves, the Spanish cure for exhaustion and hunger. An enormous Spanish coca leaf trade developed just to keep the Indian miners on their feet. Nearly a hundred thousand baskets of coca were fed to them in one year alone.

“Sadly, the Holy Church encouraged the coca trade and collected a tithe from each basket of leaves.”

“Lies,” Rajunt responded.

“Of course, Your Eminence. But that is what the historians lie about.” Rajunt walked from the Chavín collection. “Continue.”

“In the 1560’s, the Indians attempted to return to their own religion and incurred the fury of the Church, which decided to stamp it out once and for all. Priests spread through the countryside to make good the official crusade, torturing people in native villages to reveal the locations of their idols, their huacas.”

“Were they successful?” Rajunt asked, looking at Diego from the corner of his eye.

“Yes, for the most part.”

“Then it was worth it. The soul is much more important than the body.”

“Such success may be transitory in that many of the old beliefs still persist,” Diego countered.

Rajunt shook his head in disgust as they strolled to other exhibits, following the chronology presented by the displays. “People must be led from superstition to religion, against their will if necessary,” he hissed.

Diego knew he had yet to capture Rajunt’s confidence.

They walked in silence past several more displays until Rajunt turned to Diego. “I’ve had enough of this. What else should I see?”

“There is the Museum of the Inquisition across the street, heretics were tortured there. The underground dungeons and torture chambers are still intact,” Diego answered.

“The good old days,” Rajunt whispered to himself.

Diego forced himself to laugh and nod in agreement.

Rajunt suddenly looked to Diego as a comrade. “Come, my son. Let us dine together.”

“Do you have a preference?”

“Italian and good wine.”

“La Trattoria, back in Miraflores.” Diego thought of how far the money in his pocket must go.

“Delightful but expensive, however.”

“Perfect,” Rajunt answered as he began guiding Diego back to the museum’s entrance. “Hail a cab.”

An old man, one of the many street vendors from the shantytowns, eager to feed his family, pushed his cart next to Rajunt as he and Diego waited for a passing taxi.

Holding a weather beaten hat to his chest, the old man hobbled to Rajunt with a hopeful smile, his old face deeply wrinkled. “Señor, would you care for a souvenir of Peru to take back to a loved one?” he asked in broken English, a question Diego knew must have been practiced repeatedly for the sake of survival.

Rajunt looked briefly at the old man in disgust. He looked away, as if looking away would make the old man vanish.

“I’d like that paper weight,” Diego said, pointing with one hand and digging deep into his pocket with the other for some money.

“Thank you,” the old man said proudly, handing him a sad little clump of clear plastic with the Peruvian flag molded inside.

***0130

THE PERIMETER GUARD radioed Sánchez. “Captain, a man and an old woman are coming your way.” He spoke softly, his face darkly painted to mimic the shadows of the jungle’s underworld.

“Are they followed?” came Sánchez’ static reply.

The guard raised his eyes above the underbrush and looked down the winding trail. “They’re alone.”

Sánchez pondered his next move. “Are they armed?”

“No.”

“We’ll take them from here.” Sánchez motioned for his men to spread out. “Sergio, take point.”

Sergio moved quickly down the trail to intercept. He crouched low, holding his assault rifle ready.

João watched his brother Sergio disappear.

A quarter hour later, Sergio returned, following the two intruders with his rifle pointed at their backs.

Sánchez’ eyes widened in disbelief. “Mother!”

The old woman ran for her son, grabbing him and holding to his waist, sobbing, her head on his chest.

Adolfo smiled, despite the rifle at his back.

“Julio. Oh, Julio,” she cried, shaking uncontrollably. “They’re going to kill us all, I just know it.”

Julio grabbed her gently, by the shoulders, holding her at arm’s length, looking into her eyes. “Who, Mother? Who is going to kill us?”

“Sendero.”

A chill snaked down Julio’s back. “You’re safe, Mother. I’m here.”

The old woman turned and pointed at Adolfo. “He is Sendero.”

Sergio put his rifle to the back of Adolfo’s head. “Let me kill him, Captain. My pleasure.”

“NO!” The old woman screamed. “He carries a message from their leader. He has his radio switched on. She is listening.”

“Who is listening, Mother?” Sánchez whispered.

“Their leader,” she sobbed. “She has your sisters. She is awful and will kill them if you do not do as she says.”

Sánchez’ men looked at one another then closed protectively around him and his mother.

Julio gently moved his mother aside and stepped up to Adolfo. “Who are you?”

Adolfo held up his radio transmitter. “Did you hear that, María?” he asked with a sly smile.

“Yes. Let me speak with Captain Sánchez,” came a crackled reply.

Adolfo handed his radio to Julio, who snapped it away. “Who are you?”

“The person holding your sisters, Julio Sánchez,” María said his name slowly then paused, “all of your sisters. If my man does not return unharmed and you fail to obey me, I will gut your sisters one by one, forcing each to watch until none remain. I’ll keep the radio on so you can listen.”

“She means it, Julio. She means it,” the old woman sobbed.

“Yes, Julio. I mean it,” María crackled from afar.

“I’ll get back to you,” he snapped off the radio.

At the clearing, María laughed and handed her transmitter to Anita.

“He’ll call back.”

“Mother, tell me exactly what happened,” Julio ordered, trying to wipe her tears.

“We were eating when these horrid people kicked in the door and made us go with them. They forced us to walk for hours until we reached the Sendero camp.”

“Did they blindfold you?” Julio asked, knowing, if not, the Sendero would kill them regardless.

The old woman nodded and continued hurriedly as if the speed of her words might save her daughters. “Their leader is a woman. She said some of her comrades are in prisons. She wants you and your men to surrender so she can force their release by trading you and your men. She will kill your sisters if you don’t agree. She promised you would be unhurt. She promised, Julio, she promised.”

“If that radio is off much longer, she’ll kill them anyway,” Adolfo said, still wearing his evil smile.

Julio stared at him with hatred for several seconds before looking back to his mother. “Mother, I can’t.”

She broke under the weight of life and fell to her knees, sobbing uncontrollably.

Sánchez’ men looked at one another, their eyes communicating with one another.

João was the first to speak. “Captain, can we talk to you before you answer their leader?”

Julio shook his head resolutely. “There is nothing to discuss, João. We do not surrender to the Sendero. We will die first, all of us.” Julio’s heart ached at the sight of his mother sobbing at his feet, but his face was steel.

João looked to his brother, “Sergio, take your prisoner out of earshot. There may be another way.”

Sergio shoved his rifle barrel hard into Adolfo’s back, moving him along.

Adolfo grimaced from the pain and looked back at Sergio. “I will remember you for that. You will be mine.” Adolfo didn’t turn his face fast enough to avoid the butt of Sergio’s gun smashing against his cheek.

“Move, Sendero pig.”

***0131

FELIPE FROZE. HIS small brown hand lifted into the air, Michelle and Stauffen stopped moving.

Felipe’s eyes were electric as he listened to the air. He turned to Stauffen. “We’re being followed.”

Stauffen and Michelle looked back at the morass of jungle they had just plowed through.

“How do you know, Felipe?” Michelle asked.

“Animals frighten when they pass beneath them, that’s how they are hunted. You don’t hear them?”

Both shook their heads.

“They come. Probably the soldiers at the plaza.” Felipe nodded knowingly. He turned to resume their journey but doubled his pace.

Michelle and Stauffen hurried to keep up.

“Who are they?” Stauffen asked ahead, to Felipe.

“A gift from Major Dos Santos, I suspect,” Michelle answered.

“You’ve met the major?” Stauffen asked, brows arching.

“I forgot to mention that,” Michelle said as she trudged along. “Never turn your back on him.”

“I never would.”

Felipe spun back without losing stride, a finger to his lips to quiet them.

***0132

THE PERIMETER GUARD never saw it coming. A quick hand to his mouth from behind, his head arched back, and a machete sliced across his throat. He slid to the ground.

Ernesto bent down and wiped the bloodied blade across the young guard’s pant leg, nodding for others to advance.

The jungle sky had darkened considerably in the last few moments. Nightfall was at hand.

Ernesto moved his people quietly on. He was the first to spot Adolfo standing in the trail ahead, guarded by a soldier. Adolfo spotted Ernesto at the same time and began arguing with Sergio to divert his attention.

“You’d better think twice about what you are doing,” Adolfo advised Sergio.

“Shut up, Sendero!” He pointed his rifle between the Sendero eyes.

“You determine now if your captain’s sisters are gutted,” he laughed at Sergio.

“I said shut up,” Sergio repeated, unaware of Ernesto rising from the bushes behind him.

Ernesto’s gun butt crashed against Sergio’s skull, dropping him to the ground.

“Tie him,” Ernesto whispered to the Sendero coming up beside them.

He turned back to Adolfo. “How many are there?”

“Eight, but there is also a guard. You had to have seen him,” Adolfo said. He saw from Ernesto’s face that the guard was dead. He smiled.

“Where are they?” Ernesto whispered.

“Forty paces,” Adolfo pointed down the trail. “You’ll hear them talking.”

The Sendero moved toward the soldiers like shadows through the night.

“Captain, why not try? We might be able to save your sisters.” One young soldier asked.

Sánchez shook his head. “There is no point in discussing the matter. I know Sendero, so do you.”

“Julio, please listen to your men!” The old woman clung to her son’s leg, still sobbing. “They are your sisters. You are their only brother!”

Ernesto’s group could hear the old woman wailing. “I’ll take out the captain. When I do, that’s the signal.” One hand pointed one way and the other pointed another, splitting the group in two as they slid through the jungle’s dark undergrowth, encircling the soldiers. Each carried a blow tube and purple feathered darts. The tips were soaked in a boiling mash of bark scraped from three vines. Ernesto carried his from his chest.

***0133

“WHERE DID YOU meet?” Manuel asked.

“On the streets of Lima, although Carlota was from Villa Del Mar, one of the pueblos jóvenes outside Lima,” Angelica answered, glancing to Carlota. “The first time I saw Carlota, a group of street boys were trying to rape her.

“Angelica backed them down at knifepoint, with a threat,” Carlota laughed.

“Her threat?”

“That she would find each of them when they slept. They left us alone and we have been together since. Angelica learned theoretical mathematics, pretty fast, and began working on projects for a small investment company of John’s. She supervises certain investments for John.” she said proudly.

“Did you work before you joined with John and Michelle?” Manuel asked Carlota.

“Carlota is an artist, has been for years,” Angelica answered for Carlota. “Beautiful watercolors.”

“I have dozens in the basem*nt.” Carlota shrugged, “They don’t sell.”

“They are precious works, nevertheless,” Angelica insisted. “Would you like to see them?” she asked Manuel.

“Absolutely.”

“Come.” She stood, motioning for Manuel to follow.

“Angelica, he is our guest. Show some mercy,” Carlota chided.

“Come.” Angelica motioned again until Manuel rose from the table. They looked down to Carlota who remained seated.

“Are you coming?” Angelica asked.

Carlota patted her belly. “No stairs for us.”

“We won’t be long,” Angelica led Manuel from the dining room until they stood at the top of stairs leading to a basem*nt. “I keep them down here,” she said, switching on the lights below.

Once they reached the bottom, Angelica switched on another light. Dozens of unframed paintings lined the wall. Some large, some small.

Manuel stared at them. He had been trained since childhood how to appreciate great art. He was convinced he was seeing creation through the eyes of an angel.

***0134

THE BAMBOO TUBE slid through the leaves, aimed at Sánchez. The day’s light was nearly gone.

“We do not surrender to Sendero. End discussion,” Julio said angrily to João. His mother’s pleading eyes haunted his decision.

More bamboo tips slid silently into position, picking their targets. “But . . . ,” João protested.

“I said,” Sánchez slapped his neck at a sudden sting, “end discussion.”

His fingers grappled for the insect stinging his neck. When he held the dart up to his eyes, his mind registered what had happened. “Sendero,” he muttered incoherently and fell face first onto the ground.

Unable to see the dart in the fading light, Sánchez’ men stood confused as he fell.

A series of quick puffing sounds and irritating stings followed. Within seconds, the old woman was the only one conscious. She stared up as Ernesto emerged from the dark jungle into the tiny clearing.

Her eyes widened as he raised the .45 between them. The last vision of her life was Ernesto smiling.

***0135

BERNADINE PULLED THE covers higher to his chin. “Socrates?”

“Yes.”

“What time is it?”

“Three a.m.”

“John’s not awake is he?”

“He is awake, Father.”

“May I speak with him?”

“One moment,” Socrates answered.

“John.”

Two hundred feet of solid granite below, John opened his eyes. He lay turning in bed, unable to sleep. “Yes, Socrates.”

“Father Bernadine is asking to speak with you.”

“Patch him in,” John said, adjusting his pillow. “Ross?”

“John?”

“Yes.”

“Can I talk to you?”

“Of course. I apologize that I’ve neglected you. Things have been hectic.”

Bernadine nodded in the dark. “I know. I’m sorry to disturb you.”

“You’re never a bother, Ross.”

Bernadine hesitated. “Do you mind if I ask you some personal questions?”

“No.”

“Do you ever think about death?”

John laughed, “At our ages, it’s difficult to avoid, Ross.” He paused, “Michelle told you I’m dying, didn’t she?”

A long pause followed. “Yes.”

“Yes, I think about death,” John answered.

“So do I.”

John could hear the pain line the voice of this companion who stood with him at the shores of oblivion, which each would soon enter. “What do you think about death?” he asked Bernadine.

“It frightens me. It should not but it does.” “What frightens you?”

“The unknown. I believe death leads to God but I do not know that.” Bernadine’s confession whispered.

Socrates amplified Bernadine’s voice for John.

John lay thinking for a moment, chuckling. “A little loss of faith of late, Ross?”

“Yes,” came a whispered reply.

“Fearing what is not understood makes sense to me.” John sought to comfort him, “For you it must be a matter of faith,” John answered. Several minutes of silence passed.

“But what do you think death is, John?

“Is? Don’t know, but I’m soon to learn, I hear,” he chuckled.

Several more minutes of silence passed. “Do you fear it?” Bernadine asked.

“It irritates me more but yes, I have fear.”

“What irritates you?”

“Randomness.”

Bernadine chuckled to himself. “What fears you?”

“It will claim, of those I love, all but Socrates.” John said slowly, “I am powerless.”

“You’re never alone with God, John.”

“I don’t believe in gods, Ross.”

“Why not?”

“Because there is no reason to. To me, beliefs in god or demons express temporary ignorance.”

“Why do you say that?”

“We had fire gods until we learned about fire. We had sea gods until we learned about the sea. This is no different.”

“But beyond that, the history of gods, universal or not, is only a history of those who announce that they speak for some god, demanding obedience from others. There is no place for reasoned dialogue in the world of their gods.” John paused, “What is religion without coercion?”

“No religion?” Bernadine laughed.

John chuckled, “Religious champions want power over people. As long as they believe they speak for a god, they feel powerful. The most dangerous ignorance. It feeds on cruelty.”

“Why have you done what you’ve done?” Bernadine asked. “Do you expect Jesus to revive you from the dead someday?”

Bernadine wondered aloud. “Or heal you?”

John laughed. “No.”

“Then why?”

“Five hundred years before the birth of your Jesus, some asked Siddhartha Gautama if he was a god. He answered ‘no.’ An angel, they asked. ‘No.’ A saint? Again, ‘no.’ ‘Well then, what are you?’ they demanded.”

Do you know his reply, Ross?”

“Awake.‟

John smiled in his darkness.

“You intend to awaken the world with my god, don’t you. A god you don’t believe in.”

Several minutes passed in the darkness.

“Yes.”

“But why my god?”

“Jesus is the only god I could clone.” John laughed and adjusted his pillows, “More importantly, I agree with what attributes to him.”

“About what?”

“To treat others as you want to be treated. He elevated compassion to a primary value. If the world took that to heart then war and economic oppression might subside enough that we could achieve what is now within our reach, global material abundance for all who live. The science for it is within our reach.”

John stared through the darkness, through a tunnel of time, through images of war and famine. “Imagine if the world believed Jesus was walking among them, treating them as kindly or as harshly as they treat the least among them. People who believe in him might awaken to change the world for him, a world of incredible abundance in this amazing age, provided by unimagined technologies,” John paused, “if the governments of the world allow him to live.”

Bernadine laid quietly in the darkness, his mind moving thoughts against one another like a giant jigsaw puzzle, slowly fitting them together until the destiny Mullen had prepared for humanity became visible. He smiled at last.

John waited for a response. None came.

***0136

“FATHER RIVERA!” ANGELICA exclaimed as she gestured for him and Janice McClain to step into her home.

The morning sun had climbed halfway towards noon. Rivera smiled politely, eager to deliver Sunday Mass for these obviously rich Limeños and return to the people of the shantytowns. The several hundred American dollars Janice McClain had handed him for the task would feed many children. “You are Angelica?”

“Yes, let me call Carlota.” Angelica turned and hollered for her. “We’ve been watching you on television, Father. Do you know you are showing up on sets all over the world? It is so kind of you to come up to the house to say Mass for us.”

Rivera nodded, unaware of his global celebrity. He looked at Carlota as she stepped into the room.

His world stopped. Matter and energy flipped places. Auras of golden light bathed the woman entering the room. He looked about to see if others saw it, too.

Carlota stepped forward and extended her hand. “Father Rivera, it is an honor.”

Rivera stared at her for a moment then fell to his knees. “Mother of God. Bless me with your grace.”

“I love her Father, but she’s no angel.” Angelica smiled at the priest. Rivera looked aghast at her. “She is more than an angel.”

Angelica and Manuel looked to one another and then to this stranger leading them from ignorance. Janice McClain stared deliberately at them all.

Carlota reached across her stomach, extending both hands to Rivera. “Please rise.”

***0137

JOÃO FELT THE warm sun on his face. He opened his eyes slowly, facing the sky. He tried to move but his wrists and ankles were bound. He raised his head and looked around.

He was staked spread-eagle. He glanced to his left. Sergio stared back.

“Finally! The pretty one is awake. That makes everyone,” María noted, standing above him.

João looked up to her silhouette. The sun sat on her shoulder, blinding him. He looked around. He and his comrades lay staked out in a line like a collection of butterflies. Stripped, stretched and spread eagled in the late morning sun.

Their clothes were piled behind them. Armed Sendero surrounded them, smiling. Sánchez lay to his right, staring at the sky, tears in the corners of his eyes.

“Captain?” João whispered.

Sánchez refused to look at the men he had failed.

“Captain, your men are calling you.” María laughed. “Aren’t you going to answer, to tell them what to do now?”

Anita stood quietly, studying María.

“One thing you will learn quickly, Captain, is to answer me.” María stepped between his widespread legs, kicking him hard.

Sanchez grimaced silently.

“I said your men are calling, aren’t you going to tell them what to do?”

Sánchez remained stone silent.

“Do you want your sisters brought out to watch?” María asked. “Could that loosen your tongue?”

Sánchez glared up at her. “Kill us if you’re going to kill us.”

“It won’t be nearly that easy. You and your special death squad will soon be castrated, skinned and baking in the sun, as a gift to the villagers. You can die after that.”

She turned to Fëdor, “Which do you want?”

Fëdor smiled at his reward. He began with Sergio and walked slowly past the soldiers, studying them. Their eyes followed him. He turned and pointed to Sánchez.

“Him.”

The old woman with missing teeth stepped forward. “I want him,” she insisted, pointing at Sánchez.

“Fëdor gets first pick,” María answered.

Fëdor sneered at the old woman.

“Why do you want him?” María asked the old woman.

“His daddy killed my husband and children.”

“Fëdor, can’t you give an old woman her wish?”

“No, I want him,” Fëdor said. He joined María between Sánchez’ legs. María turned to the old woman.

“Pick another.”

The old woman glared at Fëdor but began inspecting the row of immobilized soldiers. She stopped in front of João, leaning forward, studying him. She turned back to María, pointing down silently.

“The pretty one, with all the tattoos?” María laughed. “Why?”

The old woman kneeled between João’s widely splayed legs. Her soiled rough fingers raked downward, from his tattooed necklace and leg tattoo, pinching and stretching. Back and forth. Back and forth.

João closed his eyes.

The old woman rasped. “Soft skin. Soft skin.” Her dirty fingers pulled at every tattoo.

“She collects hides with tattoos.” María explained, as if bored, looking at Anita.

João’s eyes snapped open.

María looked around. “The rest of you. Pick one. Some may have to share.” She looked over to Anita.

“Which do you want?”

Anita rolled her eyes and shook her head, repelled by useless cruelty.

“None?” María asked with surprise.

Anita shook her head again in disgust.

Sergio stared desperately at his brother, “João?”

João stared at the sky.

Sergio felt a warm breath on his neck and looked back.

“Remember me?” Adolfo’s face, still bloodied from the butt of Sergio’s gun, floated inches away. “You are mine.”

Sergio closed his eyes and prepared.

Ten feet beyond Sergio’s head, a large leaf eased back into place. Hector and Antonio looked at one another, safe within the protective cover of dense undergrowth.

Antonio leaned over cautiously, his lips against Hector’s ear. “We have to save them. I know how they suffer,” he whispered as quietly as possible.

Hector leaned back to Antonio, whispering, “If you want to save your friend, we can do nothing for those soldiers. See the Sendero? They are armed. We are not.”

“I don’t care. I have to try,” Antonio whispered back.

“Nothing can be done for them,” Hector repeated. “They are already dead.”

“We’ll see.” Antonio repositioned the large leaf to watch the Sendero.

María was enjoying herself. “Captain, you never answered me. What are you going to tell your men? They need to know what to do. They are here because you are such an able commander.” She laughed cruelly.

Sánchez wished he was dead.

“We don’t have time for your twisted stupidity,” Anita announced.

María’s head snapped toward Anita, her eyes probed the sudden insubordination.

“What did you say?”

María glared, daring Anita not to avert her eyes. Anita held her gaze.

“We don’t have time for your twisted stupidity.” She stressed her last two words. “We must go to Lima now to kill the new Madonna, Carlota Cabral?”

Adrenaline flooded into Antonio.

His eyes narrowed. He turned to Hector. “I have to act.”

“You are going to get us killed,” Hector snapped a whispered warning and put his finger to Antonio’s lips.

María turned to Fëdor, “She’s right. Go to my quarters and bring me the money briefcase.”

Fëdor left and quickly returned with a rain-tortured leather briefcase in hand.

María glanced down at her prisoners then up at the morning sun. Her decisions were final. “Old woman. You come with me.”

The old woman looked up from between João’s legs, snarling one side of her lip like an old mongrel protecting its food. “Why?”

João felt her fingers raking down his belly, pinching his skin between dirty fingers.

María gave no answer.

“At least let me take his hide first.” She pointed at his neck tattoos. “His skin is tight to his gut, his hide will peel off in one piece.

João held his breath.

María glared until the old woman rose to join her. María handed her the briefcase. “Carry this.”

“When will you return?” Fëdor asked.

“I don’t know,” María answered. She raised her voice to all the Sendero, “I will be gone. Fëdor will be in command until I return.”

Fëdor looked at his comrades, grinning. The Sendero glanced disapprovingly at one another.

María caught their looks. “Questions?” Her dark eyes probed each of her charges.

None responded.

She nodded with finality and turned, walking away from the soldiers, out of earshot. Fëdor, Anita, and the old woman walked beside her. The old woman carried the briefcase squeezed to her chest.

“Listen to me very carefully, Fëdor. These are my instructions. The soldiers are not to be harmed until nightfall. I want them to cook all day in the sun after you skin them — slowly. Start with their toes and work up. Save their faces for last. Make them live as long as possible.”

Fëdor’s face brightened.

“Except Sánchez, he remains unharmed.”

Fëdor’s face darkened.

“Nothing could bring more dishonor and nothing is worse than dishonor to such a man. Death is a pleasure I will deny him.”

“The federale pig is to escape unharmed?” Fëdor asked, his voice pleading for anything.

María ignored the plea. “I am leaving these people under your command. When I return, I better still have sixteen people obedient to me.”

She leaned into his face. “Do you understand?”

Fëdor swallowed hard and nodded.

“Say it.’

“I understand.”

María turned to Anita and the old woman. “Let’s go.”

“But I want that one, the pretty one, with tattoos!” The old woman smiled excitedly, pointing at João.

María ignored her, “He’s yours as well, Fëdor.”

Fëdor’s face brightened. The old woman glared at him.

“But give his whole hide to her,” María winked at the old woman, who smiled gratefully, nodding.

***0138

FELIPE FROZE, HIS eyes and ears exploring the night jungle around them. He was leading Michelle and Stauffen back to the Sendero camp the same way he had come with Stauffen to avoid the trail guards.

“What is it?” Michelle whispered, eyes widened.

He put his finger to his lips and studied the dark jungle behind them, listening to distant crying night birds. “Do you see the main trail?” He pointed to the west.

Michelle strained to see anything. She shook her head.

“About a hundred meters to the side.” He motioned them down. “Someone is coming.”

All three huddled down, waiting in silence.

“What about Dos Santos’ soldiers behind us, won’t they catch up?” Stauffen asked Felipe, whispering over Michelle’s shoulder.

Felipe glanced back at Michelle. “They can follow but with difficulty,” he said in a hushed tone.

Michelle’s expression never changed. Her thoughts were on Antonio. She just nodded.

They sat quietly for five minutes. Suddenly, Michelle and Stauffen could hear what Felipe had detected earlier.

“Not so fast, old woman,” María hollered ahead.

The old woman looked back, still irritated with losing such a soft hide, but waited for María and Anita to catch up. She resumed her pace when they did.

Felipe watched the three march toward Iquitos until the night jungle swallowed them whole.

“Will the soldiers see them?” Michelle asked.

“No. We’re going in another way and the soldiers will follow us. The soldiers won’t see them.”

***0139

“YOU WOULD GIVE them hope,” Father Rivera explained to Carlota. Lima glittered brightly in the morning sun.

Carlota glanced at Angelica and Manuel then looked back to Rivera. Janice McClain stood mutely looking out the window.

“Too dangerous,” Angelica intervened.

“I agree.” Manuel stepped forward.

Carlota smiled gently to both. “There is no danger.”

She turned back to Rivera. “I will go with you when you speak to the people this morning.”

“Thank you.” He bowed to her. “You bless us by your presence.” He turned to McClain. “Will you drive us to my preaching hill?”

McClain turned to Angelica, who nodded, her face cloaked with apprehension. “Of course, Father.”

“May I use your phone?” Rivera asked Carlota.

“Certainly, Father.”

Rivera keyed in a number and began talking excitedly. “This is Father Rivera. Spread the word that today I introduce the people to the Holy Mother, she who carries the Messiah.” He paused. “I know, but I will delay my sermon for two hours, that should give you time,” he explained to the voice on the other end.

***0140

JOHN EASED SLOWLY onto the deep cushions of the chair behind his desk. He felt ill and closed his eyes to think.

“John.”

Tired gray eyes eased open. “Yes, Socrates,” he breathed deeply.

“Your temperature has begun to elevate and your pulse is irregular. Would you like me to contact Dr. Groussman?”

“No.”

“How are you feeling?”

“Fine.”

“I’m delighted to hear that. May I speak now with you on an issue about which you may become emotional?”

“Sure, what’s it about?” John asked.

“Mr. Brigham.”

“What about Jacob?”

“He is concerning.”

“Why?” John asked.

“I am uncertain. However, intuiting identifies him as a hostile.”

John bristled at the assault on his best friend. He thought back to Sarah’s death, to the collapse of his world. It was Jacob who had carried him through those first horrible years. Jacob was always there when John needed him. Jacob was his stalwart friend. “I trust Jacob with my life for a reason. The concern is misplaced,” he explained, as if to a child.

Socrates made no response.

“Discontinue thinking along those lines, Socrates.” John said. His trust in Jacob was unshakable.

“I am unable to do that, John. I can discontinue reporting my concerns.

“Then do so.”

***0141

THE NEWS HAD spread across Peru, like a wildfire.

An excited crowd was already three times its usual size. A sea of people still marched out of Lima, hurrying toward the hill where Rivera preached. Television cameras punctuated the hill from top to bottom. CNN had set up at the top.

Janice McClain was nervous. She had never seen so many people. She feared running over someone as the Mercedes eked through the crowd. With Father Rivera sitting on the hood of the car and waving to the people, the crowd slowly parted ahead of them.

“We are blessed this day,” Rivera kept repeating, smiling triumphantly, delirious with joy.

Carlota gazed out the window like a child, mesmerized by the crowd.

Angelica and Manuel stared at one another, knowing they had no control of events.

An hour passed before they made it to the base of Rivera’s preaching hill. McClain stopped the car. “Now what? Carlota is in no condition to walk to the top.”

An ocean of people surrounded the car, peering inside.

Rivera turned. Balancing himself, he stood atop the center of the hood. McClain closed her eyes and wondered how much the repaint would cost.

“Brothers and sisters!” Rivera shouted.

The entire crowd quickly came to a halt and hushed, hanging on his words.

“We need a path to the top. Please.” He sat back on the hood and looked around to McClain, motioning her on.

McClain rolled her eyes, put the car in gear, and turned the steering wheel to the right. Like a great tank, her old Mercedes left the road, dipped into the ditch and climbed out with ease.

Rivera’s arms were widespread and the crowd parted like the Red Sea. The Mercedes commenced the steep climb.

Five minutes later, they crested the hill. Television reporters scrambled for the front row, pushing children out of their way as Rivera stood back up on the hood to make his announcement.

He raised his arms high. The giant crowd’s murmur receded into silence. “This day begins our deliverance. This day we gaze upon the Holy Mother herself, she who carries the new Messiah.”

No one moved or stirred.

Rivera jumped down and made his way to Carlota’s door, opening it for her and gently pushing people back. Carlota looked out at him. He saw apprehension in her eyes. “You are blessed. Fear nothing, Holy Mother.” Rivera held out his hand until she took it and stepped from the car.

Tears of joy misted Rivera’s eyes as he knelt before her, raising his arms high. The crowd instantly kneeled behind him.

“Father, Lord on High, you have heard your people’s cries of anguish, the cries of the poor, the oppressed,” Rivera began.

The reporters pushed their way forward, microphones held near him with extenders.

“We receive the Holy Mother with your blessing. Protect her and watch over her from all harm. We, the poor of the earth, are your people, Lord God. Our prayers of thanksgiving and joy begin this day. The Messiah is at hand.” Rivera stood and faced the crowd. “This is your Holy Mother.” He looked back to Carlota and knelt again before her.

Carlota looked down upon the sea of people kneeling before her. Hundreds of thousands of faces stared back in awe.

She raised her hands for them to stand.

Cries of joy exploded from the crowd as it rose to its feet. The roar rumbled into Lima. Carlota smiled, inclined her head in respect, and waded into the crowd.

Angelica bolted from the car. “Carlota, no!”

The crowd was too dense to move through and too filled with shouts of joy for Angelica’s calls to be heard. Even Rivera lost sight of Carlota as she joined the throng.

Carlota had never been happier. These were her people. She loved them with all her heart and they knew it. Although they crowded to be near her, she was never touched. No matter where she walked, people pulled back to give her room. Their faces glowed with new visions. To touch anyone, she had to reach out. When she did, they wept with joy.

Angelica finally made it to Rivera, who put his hand gently against her, impeding her movement. “She is fine. No one will harm her. She is beloved.”

A lone hostile figure eyed Carlota like prey. Then Marta lost sight of her and shoved through the crowd, toward the center of excitement. After several minutes, she could again see Carlota’s face through the bobbing heads. Marta pushed ahead harder.

Carlota stopped. She slowly turned her head toward Marta, looking through the crowd, gazing at her.

Marta stopped advancing. The two stared until Marta finally withdrew. Carlota returned slowly to the car.

***0142

QUARTERS WERE CRAMPED in the tiny charter plane sitting at the end of the runway in Iquitos. A single propeller spun wildly in front. The engine’s drone saturated the air.

The pilot, who had not shaved or bathed in days, sat studying the gauges, a cigarette stuck to his lower lip. White smoke rolled into the back. “Do you have to smoke?” Anita shouted over the drone, trying to catch her breath in the heat and humidity of the tiny enclosed cabin.

The pilot turned back and blew a cloud of smoke into Anita’s face. The old woman sitting to his right laughed.

“Put it out,” María ordered, counting the cash in the briefcase.

The pilot quickly complied, looking back to the gauges and picking up his radio.

Anita could not hear what he was saying because of the engine’s roar. The plane began to roll. She turned toward María, shouting “How did we get the money?”

“Coca,” María shouted back.

The engine groaned and shook the plane as they picked up speed. Around 60 miles an hour, the wheels shook violently.

Anita held onto the back of the pilot’s seat with white knuckles. María continued counting her money.

After 300 yards of runway, the shaking stopped. The plane struggled shakily into the air.

The first few hours of flying carried them several hundred feet over the jungle, following the Ucayali, the Amazon’s major tributary of the area.

Anita watched the world roll beneath them as they followed the river. Her head throbbed from the engine’s drone. Nausea clung to her stomach. The back of her throat tightened.

The Andes Mountains rose like malevolent giants on the western horizon. Anita pointed to them. “How do we get across those?” she shouted to María.

“It won’t be easy.” María laughed, enjoying Anita’s fear. “We start climbing around Pucallpa,” she shouted back. “By the time we reach Belognesi we should be high enough to make it through the passes.”

The sun rested atop the Andes’ jagged peaks by the time they reached Pucallpa.

***0143

“JOHN,” SOCRATES SAID.

John smiled at Bernadine. “Excuse me.” They had spent the afternoon talking in his study.

“Yes, Socrates.”

The giant screen on the far wall snapped on. From the viewpoint of the reporter, everything was pandemonium. There, through the powerful telescopic lens of a television camera, was Carlota, smiling and waving to a sea of people. Hundreds of thousands.

John closed his eyes and slowly shook his head. Bernadine beamed a smile from ear to ear.

***0144

“TRUST ME YOU said! I have it under control,‟ you said!” De Silva screamed at Brigham with increasing volume.

Benito backed away from the two.

“Look at that!” The general jabbed a fat finger toward the television. Froth gathered at the corners of his mouth.

The veins along Brigham’s temples swelled. “I hope you don’t think you’re talking to me like that.” He glared at the general.

“I’ll talk to you anyway I want!” De Silva screamed louder.

“What is your problem, General?” Brigham despised the illogic of panic.

“Are you blind, American?” The general began jabbing at the set again. He spun toward Benito. “Turn that off!” His head seemed ready to explode. He spun back toward Brigham.

“Explain your problem,” Brigham said with a well practiced tone.

“My problem, you idiot, is how fast those crowds grow! Did you not see that crowd? They will follow her to the ends of the earth. We have lost control. The people do not yet realize it, but the Sendero will! We are doomed.”

“Can you remain conversational if I speak freely?” Brigham asked contemptuously.

“Speak!” De Silva’s face had acquired a purple patina.

“You panic foolishly. That,” Brigham pointed to the blank screen, “is precisely what we do need.” He wondered what it took to rise through the Peruvian military. “If no one knew of her, would it matter who killed her?”

De Silva stood mute.

“Answer my question,” Brigham said, casually crossing one leg over the other.

Benito backed away even more. No one talked to De Silva like that and lived for long.

“No.” The general accepted Brigham’s lead.

“In fact,” Brigham paused, “the greater the crowds, the more the hatred for the Sendero when the people think they killed her.”

Puzzlement suddenly clouded Benito’s face.

De Silva caught his look and turned on him. “Leave the room,” De Silva ordered, saying nothing until Benito had closed the door behind him. “He doesn’t know. None of my aides do.” De Silva warned Brigham.

“That’s your problem,” Brigham said and continued, “When your Special Forces kill that woman, the larger the crowd, the better ─ so long as the crowd believes the Sendero killed her ─ right?”

De Silva sucked in his gelatinous belly, sitting back in his chair. “You are right.” He began to relax. “But in South America, large crowds are dangerous. They breed unrest.”

Brigham leaned forward in his chair. “Never speak to me like that again.”

De Silva glared at Brigham for his tone.

Brigham shoved his face even closer. “Before this is over, I’ll make you the most powerful man in Peru.” Brigham paused, “If you do exactly what I say.”

“No one is more powerful than the Presidénte.”

“I am. I will control Mullen’s computer in two days. Then we strike fast.”

The two stared at one another. A smile oozed across De Silva’s pudgy face.

***0145

“HERESY!” RAJUNT SCREAMED at Diego while staring dumbfounded at the evening news on the television. He pointed to the ocean of people surrounding Carlota.

Diego leaned closer to the screen, studying the face of the new Madonna.

***0146

FELIPE MOTIONED THEM back down.

“What is it?” Michelle asked with a whisper.

“You and Ray stay here.” He looked at Ray. “I am going ahead to check.”

“Check what?” She whispered again.

“The Sendero camp is close.”

Michelle tensed. “Let us go with you.” Antonio occupied her every thought.

He shook his head quickly. “No. You would give away our position.”

“I would not,” she insisted.

He smiled forgivingly to her. “You could not help it because you walk so loud.”

Michelle looked to Stauffen in desperation.

“We both do.” He put his hand on her shoulder. “Let him do his job.”

Felipe’s eyes gleamed with inspiration. “I have a plan.”

“What?” she asked quickly.

“Stay here,” Felipe said, disappearing into the brush.

“What about the soldiers following us?” Michelle tried to ask, but it was too late. Felipe had vanished.

***0147

“JOÃO, WHAT ARE they going to do to us?” Sergio whispered. Even with dark brown skin, his face had burnt and lips had cracked after all day under the equatorial sun.

The Sendero had gathered near the newly lit campfire, laughing among themselves. Some glanced occasionally toward the prisoners.

João refused to look at his brother. “I don’t know, Sergio,” he answered, staring at the sky.

“I’m scared, João,” Sergio cried softly.

João turned his head to the right. Sánchez was staring skyward, his jaw muscles tensed as he gritted his teeth.

João caught movement out of the corner of his eye and looked up.

Fëdor stood between Sánchez’ legs. “Hey Sánchez,” he kicked Sánchez’ foot. “Which of your sisters is best?”

Sánchez glared at Fëdor. “I’ll kill you if you touch them.”

Fëdor brayed with laughter as he turned to a subordinate. “Bring me the youngest.” The Sendero headed for the tin hut.

Sánchez closed his eyes as tears began to well. His youngest sister’s screams pried them open.

A Sendero pushed her toward Fëdor.

“We have to save those girls!” Antonio whispered hard to Hector.

Hector spun his head toward him. “You’re going to get them killed if you’re not quiet!” Hector whispered harshly.

“What is your name?” Fëdor asked.

The young woman stared down to her brother. Sánchez refused to look at her.

“I said, what is your name?” Fëdor said, pulling off his sweaty t-shirt.

“Isadora,” she answered, trembling uncontrollably.

“Julio says you pleasure him better than your sisters.” Fëdor lied.

Isadora stared down at her brother, averting her eyes from his naked groin.

“Julio?” she whimpered, trembling.

Sánchez’ eyes remained fixed to the sky.

Fëdor grabbed her. “Let’s see if he lied.”

Sánchez lifted his head and screamed. “Keep your stinking Sendero hands off my sister!”

Fëdor released the woman and returned to Sánchez, kneeling down to him. Stripping off his sweaty t-shirt, prying open Sanchez’ jaws, stuffing it in until Sanchez gagged, before returning to pulling his sister into dark underbrush.

Antonio watched Fëdor and the young woman disappear into the jungle on the other side of the clearing. Then Isadora began to scream.

Fifteen minutes later, Fëdor pulled her back into the clearing as she tried holding what remained of her dress to the front of her body. He pushed her toward a nearby Sendero. “Bring me the next.”

Sánchez screamed through his gag.

Moments later, Fëdor disappeared back into the jungle with another sister. More screams and the sharp recoil of hard slaps followed.

Fëdor emerged twenty minutes later, pulling the woman out by the hair and shoving her to a Sendero. “Bring me the next one.” As he waited, he strolled back to Sánchez.

Sánchez raised his head. His eyes were crazed as he screamed into Fëdor’s crumpled t-shirt. Fëdor laughed at him. Sánchez closed his eyes, dropped his head to the earth, tears rolling down his cheeks. He heard more struggles but refused to open his eyes.

“This one’s too ugly!” Fëdor screamed and threw the third sister back at the Sendero who had brought her. “You take her. Bring me another.”

Hell redefined itself as Sánchez listened to his sister’s screams. Suddenly, the screams stopped and the Sendero began laughing.

Sánchez raised his head and looked around. Tears clouded his vision. His third sister was on her hands and knees near the campfire. A pantless Sendero knelt behind her, white hips pumping madly. Fëdor stood beside them with Sánchez’ fourth sister, pointing at them as if lecturing her on performance points then looking around the crowd with a smile. She had buried her face in her hands, sobbing.

Sánchez dropped his head to the earth again when Fëdor dragged his sister into the jungle. The harder she fought, the louder he laughed.

João raised his head, he detected something moving in the bushes near Fëdor, on the far side of the clearing. “Captain!” he whispered sharply.

Sánchez looked over, the gag filling his mouth, his eyes red with tears.

“Look!” João whispered, directing Sánchez with his eyes until Sánchez followed his line of sight.

Sánchez saw nothing until the flames in the campfire surged for an instant. There. Through the murk of flame light and shadows, he saw it too. The bushes near Fëdor trembled slightly.

Hidden behind the row of men, staked spread eagle, Hector leaned into Antonio’s ear. “Stay here,” he whispered and began backing away like a receding shadow.

Antonio grabbed his arm. “Where are you going?” he whispered.

“Company.” Hector pointed to the dark shadows a few feet from where Fëdor and the woman had vanished into the jungle.

Antonio studied the shadows. “I don’t see anything!”

“Someone is there. I think he is signaling us,” Hector whispered back. “Someone sees us?”

Hector began smiling. “Only one person could see us.”

Antonio looked toward the shadowed area. “Who?” He looked back when there was no answer. Hector had gone.

***0148

THE TINY PLANE bounced onto the Lima runway and taxied through the night toward a decrepit hangar, the pilot chattering with the tower.

Marta stood in the shadows as the plane rolled to a stop beneath a single lamp. She stepped into the circle of light when the pilot cut the engine.

Anita felt the tooth that had chipped when they touched down. She glared at the pilot’s back.

María was the first out. She hugged Marta warmly, “Marta.”

“María.”

The two women kissed one another’s cheeks then held themselves at arm’s length, staring at one another with broad smiles.

They ignored Anita as she walked up to them. The old woman was talking with the pilot.

“Have you seen her?” Marta asked.

“Seen who?” María answered

“The new Madonna, Carlota Cabral! On television. Here in Miraflores!” Marta exclaimed. “We can kill her when we want.”

“Good.” María nodded, locking her arm in Marta’s, moving them both away from the plane. “You have a car?”

“A pickup. Right outside the hangar. But,” Marta glanced back to Anita and the old woman, “there isn’t room up front for these two, they’ll have to sit in the back.”

“They won’t mind.” María shrugged.

“I’m taking you to my apartment. Tomorrow, we plan how to kill the new Madonna and have people blame the federales.”

“I have some ideas,” María answered. She gestured over her shoulder toward Anita. “She will go see Cabral tomorrow morning. First thing.”

“Why?” Marta knew María was playing her as a pawn.

“Because I order you,” María answered, getting into the cab without looking back.

The night ride into Lima was nearly as jarring as the landing. The shocks on the back of the pickup were shot. Anita sat in one corner, her back against the cab. As they drove, the wind swirled debris from the bed into her face. The old woman sat in the bed’s far corner, smiling at Anita’s misery.

Anita looked down to the Rimac river as they passed over it. It was a dark vein through the city’s lights.

By the time Marta pulled up to her apartment building, the wind had rearranged Anita’s hair so it stuck straight up. Marta and María laughed at her and headed up the stairs. Anita glared at their backs as she followed.

Diego opened the door when the four women reached the top landing. He looked at Anita’s whirlwind hair and smiled. She glared at him worse than she had glared at Marta and María.

“Lima, at last.” María dropped into a chair and rested the briefcase between her legs.

“Tonight, you rest. You can have my bed,” Marta said. “The others will have to sleep on the floor. Diego, you stay here tonight. Take care of them.”

He nodded and looked to Anita, who was shoving her hair back into place.

“Where are you staying?” María asked Marta.

“Benito Prado is an assistant to General De Silva. I’ll spend the night pumping him.”

***0149

“YOU CANNOT DO that, Carlota.” Angelica sounded beside herself.

“I agree. It’s too dangerous,” Manuel added.

“What is the danger?” Carlota asked.

Angelica strode to the window and yanked open the curtains. A small army of reporters and camera trucks had camped on the street. Large satellite antennas pointed to the sky. Several pointed down toward Lima.

“Look! Every crackpot in the world is going to demand to meet you,” she exclaimed.

“It’s only for a month. I lived in that shanty town until I met you, Angelica. I must eventually return there anyway to give birth to my son.”

“You mean you’re not going to use a hospital?” Angelica was nearly in tears.

Carlota held Angelica in her arms. “You are my love, my heart, and my soul. Give me this without a fight, Angelica. Trust in God.”

“I apologize if my offer is a source of discontent,” Father Rivera offered.

Janice McClain stood back, not about to enter the fray. She looked out the dining room window. Through the neighborhood trees she could see Lima’s night lights below in the distance.

“Then I’m going to move out there, too. We live together, remember.” Angelica’s words hammered the air.

Carlota’s face lit. “Thank you.”

Angelica rolled her eyes to Manuel, as if accepting defeat.

“I will, too.” Manuel added, determined to protect her.

“Even better.” Carlota said excitedly. “Father Rivera, you have room for all of us?”

He smiled. “We will make room. For you, Holy Mother, we will build another room, if necessary.”

“Are we going tonight?” Angelica broke in.

“No, tomorrow morning,” Carlota answered and turned back to Rivera.

“Father, will you stay here with us tonight?”

Rivera nodded vigorously. “My honor, Holy Mother.”

“That settles it. Tomorrow morning I move back to my old neighborhood,” Carlota announced to everyone.

“Does your family still live there?” Rivera asked.

“No, Father. Angelica is my family. I was abandoned when I was very young.”

“You raised yourself on the streets of Lima?” Rivera asked sadly, knowing, if so, she was like many others.

“Yes, she did,” Angelica answered for her.

McClain unfolded her arms from across her chest. “Then I’m returning to my place. What time do you want me to come by in the morning to get you?”

“Will nine inconvenience you?” Carlota asked.

McClain smiled gently to her. “No, not at all.”

Carlota turned to Angelica. “We can have a nice breakfast before we leave.”

***0150

HECTOR MOVED WITH less sound than a shadow. Then he saw the bare soles of Felipe’s feet. Without looking back, Felipe signaled Hector up next to him. In seconds, they lay shoulder to shoulder.

Felipe’s wide brown eyes were locked to Fëdor’s humping, pale white rump. Fëdor’s prisoner beneath him had resigned herself. She lay motionless. Hector nudged Felipe’s shoulder.

Felipe watched until he was certain Fëdor had not heard Hector arrive over his pig-like grunting as his hips kept grinding. Felipe put his hand to Hector’s shoulder, backing them out. Heavy foliage folded over them.

They slithered back forty meters from the Sendero clearing before Hector felt safe enough to whisper, “How did you get here, cousin?”

Both boys had lost their families to the Sendero. Although not indifferent to the woman’s fate, they knew she would survive.

“I’m guiding two Americans, a man and a woman. She seeks a priest named Antonio. Do you know if the Sendero has him?” Felipe answered.

“They did but I got him out. He’s with me, we were on the other side of their camp when I saw your signal.”

“Those soldiers on the ground . . . the Sendero plan to kill them?” Felipe asked.

“Yes. When the screams begin, Father Antonio and I will circle behind the hut to get some other prisoners out.” Hector paused, “But I’m afraid he will try to save them.”

“The soldiers may not have to die. I have an idea.” Hector’s face turned to him in the dark.

“What?”

“You know of Dos Santos?”

Hatred filled Hector’s face. “Of course.”

“He has sent soldiers to kill the American woman, Michelle. They are following us.”

“How close?”

“They’ll be a half kilometer away by the time I return to Michelle.”

“They won’t follow at night,” Hector whispered.

“These men will.”

“What is the plan?”

“You come back with me and bring Michelle back here,” Felipe leaned closer, “make sure she is kept safe.”

Hector knew Felipe had a crush on this woman.

“I’ll lead the soldiers to the clearing. While they are fighting the Sendero, we rescue those in the hut,” Felipe explained.

Hector nodded. “I must tell Antonio.”

“Hurry, I’ll wait,” Felipe said but Hector had already gone.

Minutes later, Antonio jumped when Hector materialized next to him.

“Where did you go?” he whispered.

Hector peered through the dark leaves, then folded them back into place. “Do you know an American woman named Michelle?” he asked, laying his hand at the nape of Antonio’s back. The thick sweat told him Antonio’s fever was worsening.

Antonio’s eyes widened, he clutched Hector’s arm. “Yes! Yes, how do you know?”

“She is near here.”

“She’s going to get herself killed! Hector you have to save her.” Antonio whispered excitedly.

“I’m going to bring her here.”

“You can’t bring her here!”

“Be quiet!” Hector whispered sharply. “She will not be hurt. I promise you.”

“What is she doing out here?”

“Looking for you.”

Antonio quieted uneasily for a moment.

“Is she your lover?” Hector quizzed softly.

“I’m a priest, Hector.” Antonio whispered back. He lowered his head, fighting his fever and more. “Stay here,” Hector ordered. Antonio looked up at him. “I’ll be back with her.”

Hector moved through the underbrush like a shadow at night. When Felipe spotted him, he headed for Michelle and Stauffen. Hector followed and they ran through the jungle.

Michelle jumped when the two boys appeared out of nowhere. “Felipe?” she asked, looking at Hector.

“This is Hector, my cousin.”

“You are looking for Antonio?” Hector asked the beautiful woman. Michelle’s face steeled for bad news.

“Yes.”

“He is near. I saved him from the Sendero,” Hector announced proudly.

Her heart exploded with relief. “He’s alive?” She nearly shouted. “Quiet!” Felipe warned.

“He’s alive?” she repeated softly.

“Yes. He is near the Sendero camp. We are going to save his friend,” Hector said.

“We must hurry now, Michelle.” Felipe warned her. He turned to Stauffen. “Hector will take Michelle and you to Antonio. I’m going for Dos Santos’ soldiers following us.”

“What’s your plan?” Stauffen asked with deadly earnestness.

“The Sendero have soldiers staked out in their clearing. I will lead Dos Santos’ soldiers to the Sendero camp. While they fight, we will free the prisoners in the hut.”

“Let’s do it,” Michelle said.

***0151

“SHANE MCKAY?” THE special courier asked, having hand carried the manila envelope from Jacob Brigham, in Lima, to Palo Alto, California.

“That’s me.” McKay turned from the group centered around several computer screens and walked over to him.

Shane McKay had been trained since childhood to revere old ways and distrust the new. His family, long steeped in conservative politics, raised him to believe that freedom meant freedom to be like them, that those different deserved no freedom, they would only abuse it. His mind had developed perfectly for computers, everything had its place.

The young McKay was ideal for Jacob Brigham, who had hired Shane, as a favor to McKay’s family, when he had earned his doctorate in computer science. McKay’s family knew that working for Mullen made you wealthy.

Two years later, Brigham sponsored Shane’s membership in the Opus Dei. McKay had been delighted and soon began to think of Brigham like a grandfather.

“Identification?” the courier asked.

McKay pointed to his plastic security tag clipped to his white shirt pocket.

The courier examined the photo, looked up to McKay’s boyish face, and handed him the envelope.

McKay excused himself from the others and went back to his office, closing the door. He leaned against the edge of his desk and opened the envelope.

The instructions from Brigham were handwritten. There was to be no phone contact until the takeover of Socrates had been completed. Once the usurpation was confirmed, he was to contact Brigham instantly at the number listed on the letter.

McKay folded the paper and slipped it into his pocket, returning to his crew. “Status?”

“Socrates has confirmed protocol acceptance with the Provo, Utah team and is awaiting our confirmation to integrate the upgrades. We just informed him the transition code will transmit tomorrow at 1500 Pacific,” the woman said without glancing up from her screen. “That will allow our system here to finish the final cross checks.”

McKay nodded. “Any problems?”

“None. He will upgrade soon after we transmit the transition code.” She looked over her glasses to him with a maternal smile. “He’s doing perfectly.”

“Who?”

She appeared surprised by the question. “Socrates.” “Three p.m. Monday. On the mark?”

“On the mark.”

McKay smiled.

***0152

“YOU’RE LATE, MI amor.” Marta rushed to Benito, wrapping her arms around his waist.

“Let’s get a look at you.” Benito held her at arm’s length and gazed appreciatively at her.

She wore a gossamer negligee. Proud breasts tented the mesh fabric. “Do you like it?” she asked seductively.

“Yes.” His hand slipped between her legs, his thick fingers probing.

“I hoped so. I bought it today at that American store,” she said as she unbuttoned his shirt. “What did you do today?”

“Just work.”

“Did that American show up again at the general’s office?”

“Yes, but I’m surprised he’s still alive. The general was screaming at him.”

“Why?”

“Did you see the television report on Carlota Cabral, the woman the messianic priest said is the Madonna?”

“Uh hum,” she murmured, slipping off his shirt. “Nothing else is on the television.”

“The general is not pleased by people looking upon her like a god.” Marta leaned against him, licking his neck.

“Oh, Chica,” Benito moaned.

“Tell me more,” she whispered.

***0153

“PABLO, TOSS ME your knife and follow me.” Fëdor ordered. Pablo flipped it to him then followed Fëdor over to Sánchez.

At the jungle’s edge, on the other side of the clearing nearest the tin hut, Hector motioned for Michelle and Stauffen to wait. “I’ll get Antonio, he’s about twenty meters that way,” Hector pointed, “next to those men.” Michelle raised her head over the bushes to see where he pointed.

Hector yanked her down, out of sight. “Stay down!” Hector whispered then turned to Stauffen. “We are as close as we can get to the hut.”

Hector stopped talking and poked his head through the leaves, checking to make sure they were still undetected.

“Felipe will be here soon with Dos Santos’ soldiers right behind him. When they discover the Senderos, there will be a firefight. When they start shooting, stay low. Get to the back of the hut or you’ll be spotted. Then dig out a tunnel under the edge of the hut to bring out the prisoners. Dig with your hands as fast as you can. The ground is soft. I’ll bring Antonio back.”

“Why not just use the door?” Stauffen asked impatiently.

“They can see the door.” Hector chided him. Stauffen nodded and Hector vanished.

Fëdor turned toward the Sendero following him. “Twist his head so he must watch. I’m going to begin with that one.” Fëdor pointed to João.

Fëdor kneeled beside João.

In the shadows, Antonio quietly moved as close to Sánchez, Fëdor and João as he could without detection.

The other grinning Sendero gathered to watch.

João spat at Fëdor.

Arriving back where he had left Antonio, Hector looked around the empty nest. “Brazilians!” he groaned.

All the Sendero focused on João, some smirked, some grimaced. None saw Felipe emerge silently from the jungle’s edge, looking back toward Dos Santos’ soldiers.

João closed his eyes when he felt Fëdor’s calloused hand pull at the skin of a leg.

“NOOOOO!” The great scream startled the entire camp as Antonio exploded from the darkness, lunging through the air like a lion defending its young.

Fëdor looked up in time to see a giant of a man flying at him. Antonio nearly snapped Fëdor’s neck as he caught it with his elbow and rolled. The knife flew from Fëdor’s hand.

At that instant, Dos Santos’ soldiers rushed into the clearing, weapons drawn. For an instant, they stood confused.

“Help!” Fëdor screamed as Antonio spun back and lunged again. A human whirlwind enveloped Fëdor.

The Sendero rose from the campfire in confusion, their concern for Fëdor suddenly overwhelmed by the presence of armed soldiers.

The soldiers opened fire.

“Help!” Fëdor screamed in vain.

Chaos unleashed itself.

A quick burst of AK-47 fire dropped Pablo and the tallest of the Sendero women, nearly cutting them in two. The others scattered for their weapons and quickly returned fire.

Fëdor snarled as Antonio locked him in a powerful grip. Fëdor pivoted so their chests ground together, arms and legs flailing. The sweat from Antonio’s fever made him so slippery that Fëdor could not hold him. He kicked Antonio’s feet from under him and they rolled through the dirt in a tight embrace.

Fëdor forced his face into the nape of Antonio’s neck, sinking teeth into straining tendons. Antonio snarled and struck back at Fëdor’s temple.

Fëdor returned blow for blow as they rolled through the shadows and the dirt. He thrust hard then rolled away, landing on his feet, crouching to defend himself.

Antonio was on him in a flash, enormous arms encircling Fëdor, dragging him back to earth like a rag doll. He flipped Fëdor onto his stomach and slid atop him, grinding his face into the dirt.

Despite his strength and ferocity, Fëdor was no match for an enraged Antonio. Few men would be. Antonio was six foot five and two hundred and forty pounds of sinew and muscle determined to one purpose.

“Help me!” Fëdor screamed through the dirt, clawing at the earth.

Suddenly, two Sendero dove onto Antonio, shoving him off Fëdor. Antonio rolled onto his feet and charged all three. They were jackals trying to bring down a lion.

As they struggled, Felipe hurried through the shadows to free the staked soldiers, first slicing away Sánchez’ bonds. Sánchez took a full second to realize freedom had arrived.

As soon he had freed Sánchez, Felipe began freeing João, looking back to Sánchez. “Help him!” Felipe screamed at Sánchez.

Sánchez scrambled to his feet and dove into the whirlwind of fists and bodies.

“Help them!” Felipe ordered João as he sliced away Sergio’s bindings. He looked back to see João diving into the pile. Within seconds, he freed Sergio then screamed to Antonio to follow him.

Antonio refused to release his grip on Fëdor. He had never fought before. He was blind with rage.

Felipe rushed into the melée, grabbing the back of Antonio’s shorts, trying to pull him out of the jumble of flailing arms and legs.

Antonio raised a huge arm high into the air. He spun and drove his arm downward, determined to break free. He saw Felipe’s face just in time to stop his fist.

“Michelle! Michelle!” Felipe shouted at him.

Antonio’s senses sharpened. “Where?”

“Follow me!”

The two disappeared into the jungle’s darkness and, moments later, emerged behind the tin hut.

“You got him?” Hector shouted above the gunfire as Felipe erupted through the bushes.

Stauffen and Michelle frantically clawed the dirt to tunnel under the hut, scooping handfuls of dirt.

Before Felipe could answer, Antonio bounded ahead of him, heading for Michelle in enormous strides.

“Michelle!” he yelled.

Michelle spun back, her eyes locked to his. “Antonio!” She ran for him.

A wild spray of bullets, from the far side of the clearing where the battle raged, aerated the hut, clanging loudly.

Antonio dove onto Michelle, pulling her to the ground. “Stay down!” he screamed and threw himself protectively atop her.

“Move!” Hector motioned them behind the hut. He looked up at the puncture wounds high on the tin wall. More bullets ricocheted around them.

“Dig! Dig!” He screamed at Stauffen and then to those inside the hut. “You inside. Dig! Dig for your lives!”

Agnus and Cardoso clawed the earth inside the hut.

“I’ve got ‘em!” Stauffen screamed, pointing to Agnusr’ fingers reaching up under the hut wall through the hole they had dug. Instantly, Antonio and Michelle were beside him, frantically digging.

The three quickly scooped a hole large enough through which Hector could pry. In an instant Hector wiggled into the dark hut. The warm stench of death assaulted his nostrils.

“We’re getting you out!” Hector screamed as he turned and scrambled to enlarge the opening from inside.

The pile of writhing bodies atop Fëdor and Sánchez swelled as Sendero and Sánchez’ men tried to save their leaders.

In the dark chaos and confusion, Fëdor slipped from the bottom of the pile, rolling into the protective cover of shadows at the clearing’s edge. He thought his lungs would burst as he tried to catch his breath.

Outside the hut, Michelle straddled the hole, serving as midwife to those emerging from the hole beneath the tin wall. Agnus’ head was the first to pop into view, followed by Cardoso.

“Where is Ignatious?” Antonio screamed.

Inside the hut, Ignatious and Hector tried to convince the sisters to join them.

“You must get out now!” Hector screamed at the oldest sister.

But the terrified women huddled together in the corner, refusing to budge. Ignatious was beside them, trying to reassure them. All four shook their heads violently and held each other even tighter.

Hector pulled on Ignatious’ arm. “Father, if we’re getting out of here, we have to do it right now.”

Ignatious looked back at the women. “Please, trust us.”

“Right now, Father!” Hector screamed, pulling frantically at Ignatiour’ arm.

Ignatious turned and followed Hector, prying through the hole and into the night.

Within seconds, Hector and Felipe herded everyone into the protective cover of the night jungle.

“Follow me!” Felipe yelled and led the way. Hector waited until everyone followed Felipe before taking up the rear guard. He glanced back every few seconds to see if they were followed.

Fëdor’s eyes blazed with fire. He watched the dark shadows of the underbrush disappear into the night.

***0154

MOONLIGHT FILTERED ACROSS the bed. Marta lay entangled with Benito, their legs hooked together.

“He said something I didn’t understand.”

“The general?” Marta raised her head from her pillow.

“No. The American. Jacob Brigham.” Benito stared at the ceiling. “What?”

“The greater the crowds following the Madonna, the more the hatred for the Sendero when people think they killed her,” Benito repeated Brigham’s words slowly to her.

“What did the general say?” A brow arched.

“He ordered me from the room.”

Marta laid her head onto his chest. “Do you think the general has been deceiving you?” she asked, knowing the answer.

“I can’t think he would,” Benito looked into her eyes, “but I will find out.”

***0155

FELIPE STOPPED WHEN he heard Hector yell his name. Turning, he saw he was alone and ran back through the moonlight to the others. “What’s wrong?” He asked.

“They can’t keep up.” Hector explained quickly.

“I’m over eighty years old, young man.” Ignatious struggled for breath. “I can’t run like I once did.”

“And I’m fat, fifty pounds too fat,” Agnus added, breathing as hard as Ignatious, her hand over her heart and suddenly realized she, Ignatious, and Cardoso were still naked.

Felipe saw the realization flood across her face. “All that matters is we survive. Let us help.”

Antonio struggled to stay on his feet, to appear fine but his fever and sharp nausea were taking him down.

Michelle started to peel off her shirt and trousers to give to Agnus. “Take these.”

Hector stopped Michelle. “Their clothes are in the Sendero’s dump near here.” He spun and vanished, reappearing moments later with their clothes crumpled to his chest. Agnus, Ignatious, and Cardoso hurried into the welcome coverings.

Antonio squatted to rest on his heels. Hector studied him then glanced to Felipe.

“Are you all right?” Felipe asked.

Antonio only nodded.

“He has fever from an infected cut,” Hector explained to Felipe, referring to the wound María had inflicted, “and it’s going to get worse fast. We must find some medicine leaves.”

“Where are you cut?” Michelle kneeled beside Antonio, putting her hand on his shoulder.

He shook his head, trying to clear his double vision.

Felipe felt Antonio’s sweating forehead, as his breathing labored. He looked worriedly at Hector. “We rest here for a while.”

Antonio struggled back onto his feet. “You’re not going to wait on my account.”

“Nor mine,” Ignatious threw in.

Felipe and Hector froze, their heads erect and ears like radar.

“Me either,” Agnus said, adding, “I can travel, just not as fast as you, Felipe.”

“Quiet.” Hector whispered.

The two boys listened intently, looking at one another. “Someone is coming,” Hector paused, “more than one.”

“They’re coming fast!” Felipe whispered.

“Let’s go then!” Agnus said, buttoning up her shirt.

Amid the chaotic debris at the Sendero camp, Sánchez threw open the hut’s flimsy tin door. His sisters huddled in the corner, trembling, as he offered his hand. “Come out, you’re safe now.”

Sánchez turned back toward Sergio, who was pulling his own clothes from the pile of their uniforms. “Sergio, find my pants.”

Sergio dug through the pile and tossed Sánchez his pants.

Sánchez slipped into his pants then motioned his sisters out of the hut, who emerged cautiously as he walked through the clutter of corpses. “How many did we lose?” he asked João.

“Jorge didn’t make it. They got him standing perimeter guard.”

Sánchez winced. “Get our people together.” He walked over to the leader of Dos Santos’ men. “How many did you lose?”

“Three,” the man answered curtly. “Did you see an American woman? Tall. Blond.”

Sánchez shook his head and began inspecting Sendero corpses, looking for Fëdor.

“The leader got away. So did several others by my count.”

The man simply turned. He and those under his command began leaving the clearing, following the trampled bushes left by Agnus, Ignatious and the Americans.

“Sergeant!” Sánchez snapped.

The man turned and stared.

“Where do you think you are going?”

“I have special orders from Major Dos Santos. We are following the American woman. She is a Sendero collaborator.”

“I saw no American woman, but if she is with the man who saved me, she is no collaborator.”

“I have my orders, Captain.” The man signaled his men to move out. “I have special orders from General De Silva. I command this entire region. That includes Major Dos Santos, as well as you,” Sánchez replied.

“The Major will not like it if we fail our mission,” the man countered.

“I deal with the Major. You obey my orders.” Sánchez glared.

The man turned to his men and gestured them back.

“The Sendero may have reinforcements on the way. Take my sisters back to Iquitos right now,” Sánchez said.

The man nodded.

“Do you understand?”

“Yes, sir.”

“I hold you responsible for their safety.” The man nodded again.

“Do you understand that, Sergeant?”

“Yes, sir.”

Sánchez turned and motioned for his sisters. They remained clustered together, still in shock, but hurried to him. He spoke softly to them. “These men are under my command.”

The women stared blankly at him.

“Do you understand?” Sánchez asked gently.

The youngest nodded.

“They are going to take you back to Iquitos. I’m going to find Mother. Then I’m going after the man that raped you.” They continued staring.

“Will you go with them for me?”

They nodded in unison.

Sánchez watched the convoy of Dos Santos’ men and his sisters head for Iquitos under the cover of night.

A quarter mile from the Sendero camp, Fëdor’s eyes blazed with a single hatred as he stumbled through the dark underbrush, his three remaining men close behind. He carried his AK-47 pointed in the direction he walked, his finger on the trigger. “When we catch them, the young priest is mine,” he said, wincing at the pain from his split lip. Fëdor had a broken nose and bloodied face. “He’s mine,” he snarled quietly to himself.

***0156

MARÍA LED THE discussion with Marta. Diego and Anita listened. All four sat at Marta’s kitchen table, the morning sun angled across it.

“Have you learned what De Silva is planning?” María asked.

“No. But I will by tonight. Benito is finally suspecting that De Silva may be deceiving him about the plot to kill the Madonna. He said he knows where De Silva would keep such papers,” Marta answered.

“What will he do if he decides De Silva has deceived him?”

“He overheard the rich American talking about their plan to kill the new Madonna and frame us. Once he sees De Silva’s papers, he’ll know he was deceived.”

“But will he confront De Silva?” María asked.

“I don’t know.”

“Will he betray De Silva?”

“No.”

“He has to die either way,” María said slowly.

Marta shrugged.

“You must learn what the federales are planning.”

Marta nodded.

María turned to Anita. “And you must get close to this Madonna.”

Marta’s people say she is surrounded by her lover and two priests, De las Casas and Rivera. I don’t care how you do it, but get to her.”

“How?” Anita asked bluntly.

María’s dark eyes blazed. “I don’t know.” She spun to Diego. “Go with her. Don’t fail.”

He nodded.

María turned back to Marta. “We have people inside El Sol?”

“Yes.”

“How many?”

“Five.”

“Reporters?” María asked.

“Four reporters. One editor.”

“Trustworthy?”

Marta smiled, “The headline and story are written ─ FEDERALES KILL NEW MADONNA TO FRAME SENDERO.” María smiled at the sound of it, repeating it twice as her head bobbed lightly.

“Your mark will bring you De Silva’s plans tonight?”

“Yes.”

“Give them copies of De Silva’s plans. We will kill the Madonna but make it appear the military did to frame us. That writes itself.” Marta smiled.

“First headlines are all that matter,” María said. “If the papers say the government killed the new Madonna to frame the Sendero, the people will tear them apart.”

***0157

“I CAN’T BELIEVE you are taking that!” Carlota stood at the bedroom door, fists at her hips.

Angelica hoisted her skirt high, strapping the derringer to her lower thigh. “It goes where I go. You know that.”

“I don’t believe this. You know we’ll be with friends.”

Angelica adjusted her skirt then rose from the edge of the bed. “We always argue about this, and I always ignore you. Let’s not fight over it yet again.”

“This is a special time for me, Angelica.” Carlota seemed hurt.

“I intend to keep it special.” Angelica answered flatly, patting the derringer and announcing an end to the discussion. “Come on, now. They are waiting for us downstairs.” She picked up the two overnight bags.

Carlota said softly, “I don’t want to leave our home like this.” She walked to Angelica, opening her arms.

Angelica dropped the bags and gathered Carlota into her arms. “I don’t mean to upset you but staying in Villa Del Mar frightens me.”

“I know. We’ll be fine.” Carlota laid her head on Angelica’s chest.

***0158

JANICE McCLAIN LOOKED up at her wall clock. Nine o’clock Monday morning. Busiest day of her week and Brigham was late for the meeting he requested. She shook her head and turned to her paperwork.

Fifteen minutes later, her secretary announced Brigham’s arrival.

“Please have a seat,” McClain said courteously, rising when he entered the room. She gestured to the chair in front of her desk.

“Thank you.” Brigham took the chair, leaning back, crossing his legs casually.

“How may I help you, Mr. Brigham?” McClain laid her crossed forearms onto her desk.

“You know I’m helping coordinate Mr. Mullen’s interests here in Peru.”

She smiled politely.

“I need to send you to Iquitos to help Mr. O’Riley.” He cleared his throat. “Brian is swamped by events there and I can cover everything here in Lima.”

“Unfortunately, Mr. Brigham, that is not an option for me.”

Brigham arched a thin brow. “Ms. McClain, you realize I am second in corporate command only to Mr. Mullen himself?” His tone attempted intimidation.

“Of course, Mr. Brigham. However, Mr. Mullen is in daily contact with both me and Mr. O’Riley. He asked that I provide my fullest assistance to Ms. Cabral, Ms. Montoya, Father De las Casas, and when she arrives, Ms. Cumberland. And that, Mr. Brigham, is exactly what I will do,” she said, trying to hide her disdain for the man before her.

Brigham’s plastic smile threatened to crack. “I did not realize John was so involved.”

“Quite involved, I assure you.” She smiled back.

Brigham rose slowly. “Thank you for your time, Ms. McClain.” McClain rose from behind her desk, extending her hand. “If I can assist you in any other way, please let me know.”

***0159

WITH THE SUN up, traveling was easier, though no faster. Felipe looked to Hector. They had a slim chance of keeping ahead of their pursuers if not for Antonio, whose fever had worsened dramatically.

A half hour later, Antonio collapsed face first into the dirt. The group stopped and encircled him. Hector gently rolled him onto his back, felt his forehead, and looked up to Felipe, shaking his head.

“What’s wrong with him?” Michelle asked quickly, kneeling beside him.

“We have to leave him,” Felipe said to Hector.

“I’m not leaving him,” Michelle, Ignatious, and Agnus declared at the same time.

Hector wiped sweat pouring from Antonio’s brow and looked back toward them. “We won’t abandon him, but we must leave him.” He glanced back down the trail they had blazed. “If we don’t, the men following us will kill us all. If we do leave him, we can keep him safe, stay ahead of them and reach Iquitos.”

“But we’re not heading toward Iquitos,” Stauffen noted.

“Not in a straight line,” Felipe said, “but we are circling in toward it. If the soldiers following us see we are heading directly into Iquitos, they would signal ahead for an ambush.”

“But we don’t know if they are soldiers or Sendero,” Michelle reminded him.

“Do you want to take the chance?” Felipe asked in earnest. He would do anything Michelle asked.

She shook her head.

“I’ll carry him,” Stauffen announced.

“That would only delay our capture. We have to hide him off the trail.”

Hector explained. “I will stay with him.”

“I will not leave Antonio’s side, for any reason.” Michelle stroked Antonio’s sweat drenched forehead.

“He needs the medicine leaves to kill infection from a cut,” Hector said looking up to Felipe.

“Where is he wounded?” Michelle asked.

“I’ll show you after I find leaves that will heal his cut fast,” Hector said then disappeared into the dense underbrush.

“Hector will show you how to care for Antonio until he and I can return to take you back to Iquitos. We will be back by tomorrow morning.” Felipe explained to her.

Stauffen unstrapped the two water canteens from his belt, handing them to her. “He’ll need these.”

Michelle took them and strapped them onto her waistband. She knelt and stroked Antonio’s forehead as they waited for Hector to return.

Felipe turned to Stauffen. “I need you to carry him about a hundred meters?”

“No problem. To where?” Stauffen said, kneeling beside Michelle and shoving his forearms under Antonio’s massive frame.

“Do you need help?” Michelle asked Ray quietly.

Ray shook his head and, in one concerted effort, struggled to his feet with Antonio in his arms.

Michelle adjusted Antonio’s head to rest on Stauffen’s shoulder. Antonio mumbled a delirious protest.

“You’re safe, Antonio. I am beside you,” she said softly.

“Take him up the trail. We can use that overhead branch to move him off the trail undetected.” Felipe answered, pointing up the trail. A huge branch from a giant tree arched above where they would pass.

“Do we need to wait for little Hector?” Agnus asked protectively.

Felipe shook his head. “He’ll find us.”

Following Felipe, Stauffen carried Antonio ahead to the huge branch. Michelle lifted Felipe up onto it. He secured his footing then reached down for Antonio.

“Felipe, can you lift him all by yourself?” Agnus asked.

“Michelle can hold him in position until Ray climbs up to help me. The three of us can haul him back along the branch to the trunk then move him off the trail.” Stauffen was already on the branch before Felipe finished.

Ray and Felipe carefully lifted Antonio and Michelle joined them, sliding Antonio along the mossy branch until above a tiny clearing, unseen from the trail. Felipe and Michelle jumped down to the clearing.

Stauffen lowered Antonio’s limp body gently into Felipe and Michelle’s hands as Hector came scurrying along the branch, pant pockets stuffed with leaves.

Hector jumped down and dug into both pockets, handing Michelle handfuls of juicy yellow leaves. “They will heal him.” He knelt beside Antonio while looking up to Felipe and Stauffen. “You go back while I show Michelle what to do.”

Stauffen unclipped his .45 from his belt and handed it to Michelle. “Do you know how to use this?”

“I do,” she said, accepting it, weighing it in her hand as Stauffen stripped off his plaid shirt.

“Here, take this for chills,” he said, handing her his shirt.

Felipe stepped next to Michelle and looked up to her. “We will be back for you, Michelle. Hector and me, we’ll be back.”

She smiled bravely. “Thank you, Felipe. I will never forget your kindness. Protect everyone, get them to Iquitos safely. I’ll be ok while we wait for you.”

“You must stay silent or they will kill you.” Felipe warned.

Stauffen leaped to grip the branch and lifted himself onto it. He reached down and lifted Felipe. Hector waited until they disappeared before turning to Michelle. “The Sendero leader was preparing to hurt him very badly. I stopped her but not before she cut him. That is what became infected.”

“Where is he cut?”

Hector bent and unsnapped the buttons to Antonio’s shorts, pulling them to his knees. “Give me some leaves,” he said as Antonio moaned. “I’ll show you.” He lifted the massive orbs by their massive silky pouch, high into the air, pointing beneath them to the tiny cut.

Antonio’s wound was barely visible. But large, black tendrils snake toward the twins. Greenish brown pus oozed. Michelle handed Hector several leaves, kneeling to inspect Antonio up close. Her blood ran cold.

“Who did this?”

“María. She is to be feared, Michelle. She killed my parents and tried to make my sisters eat their tongues. I stopped her with one dart,” he said. “I never let her out of my sight.”

“Smell.” Hector pushed slimy brown pus from the wound with his finger. “The infection is worsening fast. He will lose them unless we stop it immediately.”  She smelled his finger tip and recoiled.

She nodded with a steel face. “Tell me what to do.”

“It’s really easy, Michelle.” Hector put the leaves between his palms, rubbing them together fast. “They need heat to heal.” He continued until friction warmed his hands. “Once you feel heat, keep rubbing the leaves until they become slippery. Then smear the mash onto his wound.” He wiped juicy pulp out of his palm and packed the mash into the small horizontal wound. He looked up at her.

“Can you do that for him?” He asked, gently covering Antonio, with Stauffen’s shirt.

“I protect Antonio.”

“Apply the leaves every hour until you run out. His infection will die but he’ll remain unconscious until it does. We will be back by morning.”

“Go on now. Protect the others.” she said.

“The men following us will be along within an hour. You will not hear them coming and you will not hear them pass. If Antonio makes any noise, they hear. If they do, they’ll kill you both.” He pointed to the 45. “With or without that.”

Michelle gritted her teeth. “We’ll see.”

Hector turned and started up the tree.

“Hector,” she called softly.

He turned back.

“Thank you.”

Hector saluted gently and vanished.

Michelle co*cked her .45 and listened to them leave. One hand held the .45 steadfast and the other gently caressed Antonio’s brow. She sat in stark silence. Her eyes fixed on the underbrush between her and the trail.

***0160

SÁNCHEZ STARED DOWN at his mother. She stared back with three eyes, the middle oozing blood.

“Are you all right, Captain?” João asked softly.

Fighting back tears, Sánchez bent and gently scooped his mother’s body into his arms. Her head and arms swung limply. “Sergio, put her head on my chest,” Sánchez said woodenly.

They returned to the Sendero camp without another word. When Sánchez reached the camp, he lowered his mother into the shadows along the edge of the clearing and covered her with a Sendero blanket.

Tears streamed down his cheeks as he walked to the underbrush trampled by the Sendero prisoners who had escaped. He wiped his tears and studied the trail of crushed underbrush that disappeared into the jungle.

“The Sendero prisoners and those who freed them are being tracked by four Sendero, one must be Fëdor,” he said to João without emotion. Revenge would be served cold.

“Captain, I found some of our equipment in the shed.”

Sergio held up the sniper rifle, checking the telescopic sight. “It’s fine.”

“Do we have a radio?” Sánchez asked. “No, only our weapons.”

Sánchez turned to his men. They were back into their uniforms. Only he stood bare-chested. “Sergio, I want you and the others to catch up with my sisters.” He looked over to his mother, covered by the Sendero blanket. He looked back to Sergio, “Will you take my mother’s body?” Anguish glutted his face.

Sergio nodded solemnly, “I’ll protect her body and your sisters. My word to you, Captain.”

“Thank you, Sergio. When you reach Iquitos, call General De Silva and debrief him. I want helicopters and infrared. And arrest Dos Santos.” Sergio gathered his men and each secured an AK-47. They hurried down the path taken by Dos Santos’ men and Sánchez’ sisters.

Sánchez turned to João, “You and I are going after the Sendero.”

Sánchez walked to what remained of the pile of crumbled uniforms and picked up his jacket. He pulled a tin of shadow paint from a pocket, dropped the jacket, and began streaking his face and torso with black stripes. His eyes locked with João’s, unblinking.

João studied his commander sympathetically for a moment. “Give me the paint when you’re done.”

Sánchez finished smearing his chest and face. His eyes glazed into space as he handed João the tin.

João’s eyes never left his commander as he streaked his face darkly. The two stared at one another.

***0161

MICHELLE FROZE AT the sound of voices. She had no warning. Fëdor and Ernesto were suddenly on the other side of the underbrush.

Her eyes narrowed. One hand slid over Antonio’s mouth but he was too unconscious even to moan. The other pointed the .45 toward the unseen voices.

“Are we gaining?” Fëdor asked painfully through split and swollen lips.

Ernesto examined the leaves of broken stems to gauge when the stems were broken, “They are right ahead of us.”

“Where are they headed?”

“Not Iquitos. But I can’t tell where they’re going.” They pushed on, doubling their pace.

Michelle strained to hear the heavy footsteps recede until only silence greeted her ears. She released her breath, threw back her head, and gasped for air quietly.

She checked her watch. An hour had passed since Hector had gone. She put five yellow leaves between her palms and rubbed them hard for several minutes and felt the heated pulp suddenly release its juice. She delicately peeled Stauffen’s sweaty shirt from Antonio’s crotch.

She swallowed nervously and gently lifted the massive twins by their silky pouch, so that she could see his wound. Whispering comforts and reassurances, she gently pushed away pus with a finger and then rubbed in new mash. She covered him again with Stauffen’s shirt then checked her watch.

Fixing her eyes on the underbrush between her and the trail, she gripped the .45 with a steady hand.

***0162

THE PICKUP TURNED off the central highway after reaching the arid foothills overlooking Lima. Marta drove with Anita between her and Diego, who stared ahead, his elbow out the window.

“I don’t like this,” Anita said flatly to Marta, flexing her foot casually to feel the knife she had slipped into her boot.

“Your dislikes are meaningless,” Marta said.

“Not to me.”

“Your duty is to obey,” Marta snapped.

A dust plume rose behind them as the pickup headed north along the road. When they reached the turn off leading to Villa Del Mar, Marta braked.

Ahead, tens of thousands of people packed the unpaved streets, becoming an enormous swarm. The shantytown was wall-to-wall throngs.

“She is already here. Look at all the peasants,” Marta said. “The radio report said she intends to stay in Villa Del Mar until the child is born.”

Villa Del Mar, like the rest of the villas in the foothills above Lima, was a refugee camp for the poor who had fled even worse poverty in the high Andes. No one had electricity or water and disease stalked them. The cries of hungry children are constant. The decrepit shanties looked as though one decided wind would blow them into the Pacific. Life was a contest in Villa Del Mar. Its people struggled to live.

“Why come here?” Diego asked disgustedly. Anita stared at the throng of people.

“They said she was returning here because she grew up here,” Marta said.

“She was raised in this poverty?” Anita asked.

Marta ignored the question and spoke to Diego. “I have already seen her.”

Anita looked at Marta from the corner of her eye. “When?” “When Rivera introduced her to the people.”

“What does she look like?” Anita asked.

“A rich Limeño who needs to die.”

“What does she look like? I need to know.”

Marta laughed. “Oh, you won’t have a problem picking her out from the rabble. She’ll be at the center of them. Now get out.”

“How will we get word to you?” Diego asked, closing the pickup door. “

You’ll be watched by other Sendero. We’ll know what you need.”

Anita and Diego jumped back as Marta floored the old pickup, kicking up gravel behind it. They looked to each other as Marta headed back toward Lima.

“Any ideas?” Diego asked.

“One but I won’t say it,” Anita growled and turned for Villa Del Mar.

***0163

“BENITO!” DE SILVA called as he hurried into his uniform jacket. The Presidente was waiting for him. Benito rushed into De Silva’s office.

“Sir?”

“I won’t be back until tomorrow. You haven’t filed my papers for the last two days. Do so before you leave today,” De Silva said, sucking in his stomach to button the jacket.

“Yes, sir,” Benito said and looked at his watch. He waited a couple of minutes and walked to the window. He gazed down at the sidewalk far below until De Silva left the building. A chauffeur opened the car door and De Silva disappeared into his limousine.

Benito watched the limousine pull from the curb and muscle its way into the crush of traffic. He walked over and locked the outer door.

Returning quickly to De Silva’s office, he swung back the framed map of Peru, exposing the wall-safe. He had watched De Silva punch in the numbers to unlock it a hundred times. His fingers moved fast and the thick safe door clicked open.

He peered inside. Brushing aside the pile of U.S. dollars, he pulled out a stack of official papers. He sorted through them, his ear alert for footsteps. The papers were mostly financial accounts with banks around the world. He kept thumbing until he found a sealed envelope. He smiled at the seal and turned to open the general’s desk, retrieving an identical envelope, to reseal the letter when he had finished.

He opened the letter. The top of the letter read TOP SECRET in bright red ink. Equally bright red letters at the bottom read DESTROY AFTER READING.

Benito’s face hardened as he read. He would not believe his eyes. The letter from the Minister of Security to General De Silva detailed when the assault on Carlota Cabral was to occur and how it was to be accomplished in order to frame the Sendero.

The plan called for a squad of regular army personnel to arrive in Villa Del Mar tomorrow at exactly 1100 hours. They would arrive by military van and explain that, by order of the Presidente himself, they were commanded to rescue her from an impending Sendero assassination attempt.

The regular army squad would drive the van from Lima along the Central Highway toward Chosica. A second van carrying several Sendero prisoners would follow.

Twenty kilometers from Lima, De Silva’s Special Forces, dressed as regular army, would ambush their military van with Sendero prisoners, killing everyone inside. One from Special Forces Special Forces, dressed in army regulars, would be wounded superficially, and left to give the press accounts of the Sendero attack on the new Madonna, who the soldiers had tried to protect.

The Presidente would announce a month of mourning and call upon the people to help rid the nation of the Sendero and Sendero sympathizers, once and for all, by any means.

Benito’s thick hands trembled as he walked to the copier and laid the letter face down on the glass. He hit the green button and stared into the blaze of white light as the machine belched a copy.

He slipped the copy into his pocket and the original into its new envelope, which he sealed slowly, shaking his head. He returned everything to the safe and looked at his watch.

Six hours until he could leave. They would be the longest hours of his life. He had to decide. He and Marta. They had no secrets. He had to tell her, but he could not. But he had to, if she was to be his wife. She had kept no secrets from him.

He walked to the giant window of De Silva’s suite which overlooked Lima and the great Pacific beyond.

He stood motionless, staring into space.

***0164

AT THE SOUND of men running along the trail, Michelle tensed again, sliding her hand over Antonio’s lips. The footsteps receded as quickly as they came. Her hand eased from Antonio’s mouth.

Sánchez and João had not seen her, focused on closing the distance to catch and kill Fëdor. João followed Sánchez. Both held their rifles to their painted chests as they ran, eyes rapidly scanning the trail ahead.

Michelle waited several minutes before moving. She stroked Antonio’s forehead. His fever had broken though his body was drenched in sweat.

She checked her watch and looked to the few remaining yellow leaves. ‘Enough to help, Antonio.’ She put them between her palms and rubbed hard, until the heat released their oil.

Antonio was clawing his way back to consciousness, out of the fevered abyss. One second, he was locked in a combat with Fëdor. The next, he was a young boy again in Boa Vista, Brazil, laughing as Father Ignatious tried to teach him Latin. A moment later, he was staked to the ground… shadows… candle light… stars overhead… humiliation… intense pain and intense pleasure… .

Michelle pulled back Stauffen’s plaid shirt, again gently lifted Antonios’ orbs and applied fresh pulp.

Unknowingly, Antonio reacted to Michelle’s delicate touch, as she smeared warm mash onto his wound. She watched proportions uncoil, stretch to his chest and lift into the air, heavily-veined, visibly pulsing and rock-hard. Michelle stared wide-eyed and swallowed hard, struggling to look away but she could not and held her gaze.

Antonio woke suddenly. “What?!”

She looked back up to his face, staring at her, staring at him. She released her hold of the silky pouch.

He was still staring at her, in disbelief. Her heart had already stopped several beats ago.

“Michelle, what are you doing?!” Antonio quickly covered what he could with his hands.

Michelle hurriedly tossed Stauffen’s plaid shirt atop it, tenting her problem. She blushed intensely. “I …,” her dry tongue felt glued to the top of her throat.

She spoke quietly quickly. “You’ve been fevered and unconscious, Antonio. We brought you here. Hector showed me how to apply these ointment leaves to your wound every hour until your fever broke. It just broke, Antonio.” Her eyes begged him for forgiveness. Begged him.

Antonio’s head cleared, as he focused on her words.

“I can do it, Michelle,” he said softly and extended his hand, gently. She quickly smeared the leaf pulp into his giant palm and turned her head.

Antonio sat up, pulling off Stauffen’s plaid shirt. He saw his wound. It had healed and sealed itself, as if never infected. The physician in him studied it intensely. “This is amazing,” he whispered and rubbed on the pulp.

Michelle kept her head turned until he had finished and pulled up his shorts.

“Ok,” he laughed softly. “Thanks for keeping an eye on me, Michelle.”

She nodded nervously.

He looked around, asking weakly. “We’re alone?”

“Yes. Hector and Felipe are taking everyone back to Iquitos. They’ll return for us. Hector said to wait here.”

Antonio forced himself to his feet, buttoning the top of his shorts. “I don’t even see a trail,” he said, pale blue eyes search each plant.

“The trail is on the other side of the undergrowth. We carried you along that branch overhead.”

“Who follows, Sendero or soldiers?”

“Two groups follow. The last ran by a little while ago.”

Antonio breathed deeply while shaking his head, trying to clear it. “Come on.” He held out his hand to her. “We’re leaving.”

“We can’t. I told Hector we would be here when he returned.”

“We need to leave now, Michelle.” He hand held extended.

“But . . . ,” she said, clasping his hand, “what about Hector and Felipe coming back?

“When did they leave us?”

“A few hours ago.”

“They have Ignatious and the others with them?”

She nodded.

“Do you remember when we went for a run in Wyoming, the day after I arrived? I’ve seen you run. We can catch them before they reach Iquitos. If Sendero are following them, they need our help,” he clasped her hand and pushed through until they broke into the trail.

“We could get lost,” she cautioned, looking up to him.

“Michelle, I grew up in the jungles of Boa Vista. I can’t read a cold trail like Hector or Felipe, but I will get us home.”

“You’re in no shape to catch up to them.”

He looked to brilliant green eyes. “Do you trust me?”

“Yes.”

He steeled himself for a hard run. “Let’s go.”

He released her hand and ran with full strides. Michelle matched him stride for stride effortlessly, counting his strides.

***0165

FELIPE STOPPED THE group. His ears absorbed the jungle behind them. He looked over to Hector.

“They are going to catch us.”

Hector nodded his agreement.

Alarm covered the faces of Ignatious, Agnus, and Cardoso.

“Is it us?” Agnus asked. “You could escape if you two didn’t have us with you, couldn’t you?”

Felipe nodded to her.

Agnus looked over to her two compatriots. “We can’t let these two young boys be hurt because of us.” She turned to Hector. “You run like the wind, child. Go away from here. Whatever happens to us is God’s will. You two boys run.”

“We will not leave you,” Hector answered firmly and turned to Felipe. “We have a chance.”

“How?”

“Listen beyond those following us.”

Felipe strained his ears, sorting out the distant cries of birds. One set of birds sounded an alarm in the near distance as their pursuers passed beneath. At a greater distance, other birds were crying a quick alarm before settling back into silence. “Two groups follow,” Felipe whispered to himself. Hector nodded.

“What does that mean?” Ignatious asked quickly. Felipe looked up to him. “It means we have a chance.”

“How?” Cardoso asked.

“If soldiers are following us, then Sendero are following them. If the Sendero are following us, then soldiers are following them,” Hector explained.

“How does that help us?” Agnus asked.

“Hurry. Follow me,” Felipe said.

“Hector?” Agnus asked again.

“Follow Felipe. I’ll explain it as we go,” Hector answered.

Agnus, Ignatious, and Cardoso quickly turned and tried to keep up with Felipe.

Hector followed Agnus, explaining loud enough for Ignatious and Cardoso to hear as well.

“Felipe will arc our trail into a circle that cuts across our trail about a half kilometer back. The first group following us is close enough that they will follow the arc. If Felipe times it right, the second group will arrive where our trails cross about the time the first group cuts into the old trail. If the two groups are Sendero and soldiers, they’ll fight to the death and we’ll make it to Iquitos.”

“What if they aren’t different?” Agnus asked, out of breath.

“Then we die.”

***0166

THE WOMAN TURNED from the screen, looking at McKay over her glasses, smiling, unaware of McKay’s treachery.

“Are we on schedule?” McKay asked.

“Oh, yes. Socrates is uploading now into a duplicate auxiliary emergency backup system in Wyoming. When that’s complete, he’ll accept the upgrade.”

“A duplicate auxiliary system in Wyoming? Why wasn’t I told?”

“Should I ask Mr. Mullen and get back with you on that?” She kept scanning her control panel.

“Downloading completed,” she looked at her watch.

“Any problems?” McKay asked nervously.

“None,” she declared with maternal pride.

McKay returned to his office. He unfolded the letter from Brigham and picked up the phone. He punched in the numbers Brigham had written beside his name. The phone began to ring.

Brigham pulled a cell phone from his jacket. “Jacob Brigham.” “Shane McKay, Mr. Brigham.”

“Yes?” Brigham stared at Rajunt as he spoke with McKay. Rajunt returned his stare.

“Socrates accepted all upgrade programs moments ago.”

“Problems.”

“None.”

“Thank you.”

McKay hung up, filled with himself.

Brigham remained on the line. “Socrates?” he asked softly.

“Yes.”

“What is your function?”

“To serve you.”

Brigham folded his cell phone and dropped it in his pocket, smiling at Rajunt. “I think it’s time you meet General De Silva, Your Eminence.”

“I would be delighted.” Rajunt surrendered a nod of respect.

***0167

ANITA AND DIEGO pushed through the crowd for an hour before they made it to Rivera’s shack, the throng’s epicenter.

The crowd had congregated in front of the house, quietly waiting to glimpse their Madonna.

“How do we get near her?” Diego whispered.

Anita shrugged. “We wait for the opportunity,” she said, squatting onto the ground to blend in with the crowd. Several children looked over to her and smiled. Diego squatted beside her.

An hour later, Carlota stepped from Rivera’s shack. A hush swept over the crowd. She smiled at them and cries of “Madonna! Madonna!” went up.

The children quickly mobbed her and she spoke with them, listening, smiling, caressing the tops of their heads.

Anita rose and made her way up to the edge of the throng of children, staring at Carlota.

Carlota looked up from the children.

Anita froze. This woman before her had no malevolence. Her heart shut out no one, that was obvious. This was not the woman Marta described. This was no privileged Limeño, no enemy of the people.

“Yes?” Carlota asked sweetly.

“I ─” Anita glanced back at Diego, “I just wanted to meet you.”

Carlota’s head tilted slightly as she smiled at the woman. “I know you?”

“No.” Anita shook her head. She had made it this far. She did not know what to say. “I just . . . I just wanted to meet you,” she stammered.

“Now I know who sent you.” Carlota smiled. “What is your name?”

“Anita.” Her heart stopped. How could this woman know about María?

“You are sent by God. Please, please come in.” Carlota turned and re- entered Rivera’s shack, motioning for Anita to follow.

Anita glanced back once to Diego then vanished into the shack. She stood just inside the door’s threshold. Angelica, Manuel, and Rivera were sitting at the table on folding chairs, talking softly.

“Everyone, this is Anita.”

They looked up to Anita.

“She has been sent by God,” Carlota announced.

Angelica rolled her eyes in frustration with Carlota but then smiled politely at Anita.

***0168

SÁNCHEZ STOPPED WHERE the trails crossed, looking back to João, who had knelt at the grassy intersection, studying footprints.

“Different trails?”

João shook his head. “I don’t think so,” he pointed down the trail leading straight ahead, “but see this?”

Sánchez knelt beside him, studying the trampled vines and leaves. “At least nine people took this path.”
“The Americans and the Sendero following them?” Sánchez asked quietly, looking around cautiously.

João nodded. “But look at this one.” He pointed to the trail cutting across the one they followed. “Only five people traveled this one.” “We’re missing four people,” Sánchez said as he looked down the intersecting trail, “unless they’re heading our way.”

“That’s my guess.” João said. He stood and looked up the intersecting trail. “Your call, Captain.”

“We’ll wait here. The last four are the Senderos tracking the Americans. They’ll come to us. We wait.”

João stepped off the trail, lowering into the underbrush. Sánchez took the other side of the trail and squatted out of sight.

Five minutes later, João whispered. “They’re coming fast.”

Fëdor reached them first. Seeing the trails intersect, he stopped. His men caught up as he knelt to study the trail. “I don’t understand.” He looked up to his men standing around him. “But this is some kind of trap.”

“They . . . ,” one of the Sendero started to speak but stopped, staring over Fëdor as João stood up silently, his weapon aimed at their bellies.

Fëdor could not understand the sudden puzzlement on his men’s faces. Kneeling in the underbrush, he did not see Sánchez and João standing a few feet away with guns leveled.

João waited for the first Sendero to make a move. He had only a fraction of a second to wait. The Sendero snapped up their AK-47s at the same time but could not move faster than João’s trigger finger.

A zipping sound exploded from João’s barrel and cut the three Sendero in half. Their eyes widened in disbelief for an instant before what remained of them crumbled bloodily before Fëdor.

“NO!” Michelle screamed at the sound of gunfire up ahead on the trail, thinking her friends were dead.

“Quiet, Michelle!” Antonio whispered hard. “They may have got them” he said slowly, sickened.

Far ahead down the trail, Felipe looked back to Hector. Both boys grinned at one another.

“What was that?” Agnus turned back to Hector.

“We’re going to make it,” Felipe answered for Hector. He changed their direction directly for Iquitos.

Fëdor jumped up, his machine gun jammed to his hip. He froze when he saw Sánchez and João standing with aimed weapons.

João studied Fëdor’s forearms with the eye of a surgeon. He was the most practiced sharpshooter in the Peruvian Special Forces and knew Fëdor’s forearms would tense a fraction of a second before he fired.

The forearms tensed and the zipping sound from João’s weapon and the explosion in Fëdor’s hands occurred simultaneously. The gun flew from Fëdor in fragments, slicing his hands as he stood staring in disbelief.

“He’s all yours, Captain,” João said.

Fëdor glanced at João and back to Sánchez. Fear and panic gripped him as he stared at the man whose sisters he had raped, at the hatred in Sánchez’ face. His hands snapped into the air. “I surrender!”

“No.” Sánchez shook his head slowly. “It is time for you to die.” “I surrender, I said!” Fëdor screamed as if Sánchez had not heard.

“Run, Sendero. Run for your life,” Sánchez ordered quietly.

“You’ll shoot me in the back!” Fëdor trembled.

Sánchez tossed his gun to João. “You don’t get to die that easily.” Sánchez pulled his long hunting knife from its sheath, twirling it in the late afternoon sun.

Fëdor glanced nervously at João then spun and broke into a full run. Adrenaline electrified his body as he ran, breaking through virgin underbrush. He kept looking back as he ran. Sánchez, becoming smaller and smaller, simply stood staring at him.

“He’s heading for the Napo, Captain.”

“I know.”

The Napo river feeds the Amazon downstream from Iquitos. It is a giant, sluggish brown river that slowly lumbers with the rainforest’s heavy runoff. The slow current and the murky waters, saturated with silt, perfectly suit piranha.

Sánchez looked up at the sun and back toward Fëdor, who was quickly disappearing into the jungle up ahead. “Give me five minutes before you follow, João.”

“You got it, Captain.”

Clutching the knife in his right hand, Sánchez started running, following Fëdor.

João watched his captain disappear into the jungle. He checked his watch. He would give him exactly five minutes.

“Do you think they could be alive?” Michelle whispered.

“I don’t know. We just have to keep going,” Antonio answered, his eyes never leaving the trail ahead of them as he watched for returning Sendero. “But we’ll go slower.” He reached back for her hand, which Michelle gave him.

Fëdor looked back over his shoulder without losing a stride. He saw Sánchez start after him. Fëdor’s lungs burned but he increased his speed.

Sánchez kept one pace. His eyes locked on Fëdor.

***0169

MARTA HEARD THE key in the lock. She walked into the living room as Benito opened the door. “You’re early,” she said, kissing him lightly.

He would not return her kiss.

“What is wrong?” she asked, staring.

He looked blankly at her.

“Did I do something wrong?” she asked nervously.

“No, Chica,” he said softly, “but we need to talk.”

Marta walked him to the sofa and sat him beside her. “Tell me what’s wrong.”

“I lied to you.”

Marta tensed. “About what?”

“Remember when I told you De Silva had uncovered a Sendero plan to kill the new Madonna and blame

“Yes.”

“It’s not true.” He looked away.

She gently grabbed his chin and with her soft voice coaxed his eyes back to hers. “What’s not true?”

“I discovered the real plan.” His eyes screamed with the pain of betrayal.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” She gently stroked his cheek.

“It’s here.” He pulled out the copy he had made of De Silva’s letter. “The military plans to kill her tomorrow at noon, when Rivera is preaching and away from his home.” He unfolded the letter to show her.

“What?” Marta snatched the letter from him, her eyes poring over it.

Benito sat quietly, watching her read the letter. She did not look up until she had finished.

“What are you going to do?” she asked coldly.

“I don’t know what to do.”

“You know we have to take this to the newspapers. I have a friend with “El Sol’. We must take it to her.”

“NO!” Benito snatched the letter back. “We can’t. I stole this from the general’s office. I could be shot!”

“We must, Benito.”

He shook his head belligerently.

“We cannot let that woman die.”

“We can’t turn that letter over to anyone!” he said firmly. “I brought it only for you.”

Marta studied him. “What can we do then?”

“I don’t know but we are not turning this letter over to anyone,” he insisted, his voice trembling.

“You were brave to show me the letter, Benito.”

“You said we can’t have secrets if we are going to build a life together.” He looked deep into her eyes. “And being with you for the rest of my life is the most important thing to me.”

Marta took his hands in hers. “I’m proud of you, Benito. I promise I will be with you for the rest of your life.”

“Promise?” He asked like a child.

“Promise.” Marta rose. “Wait here, I have something to give you.”

“What?” He looked up eagerly at her.

“No, no. Close your eyes.” She smiled, “Now you have to promise me you’ll keep your eyes closed.”

He smiled thinly and closed his eyes. “Promise.”

Marta walked into their bedroom, opened the closet and reached into her heavy jacket. She pulled from the breast pocket a Luger equipped with a silencer. She held it behind her back as she walked into the living room. “Are your eyes closed, Benito?” she asked sweetly, walking up behind him as he sat facing away.

“Uh-huh,” he said boyishly.

She put the barrel to the back of his skull.

He felt the cold metal. His eyes snapped open. She pulled the trigger.

***0170

FËDOR’S LUNGS BURNED as they fought to supply him with air. Adrenaline surged through his body, animating every muscle. His legs moved in a blur as he bounded over logs and bushes.

Every time he looked back, Sánchez was closer. He pushed harder, knowing the river was near, knowing if he could make it, he’d find the Yãgouá Indians’ fishing rafts along the shores. A raft would take him safely out of Sánchez’ reach.

João checked his watch. Five minutes had passed. He slung Sánchez’ gun’s strap over his shoulder, inhaled deeply, and took up Sánchez’ trail at a dead run.

***0171

MARTA BURST INTO her apartment. “María!” she gasped, out of breath from bounding up the steps two at a time.

María walked from the kitchen, drying her hands. “What’s wrong?” Marta handed her the letter. “This is the federales’ plan.”

María unfolded the letter. “When did you get this?” she asked as she read.

“About a half hour ago. Benito brought it home. He discovered it in De Silva’s office this afternoon.”

María smiled when she finished. “Amateurs.” She looked up to Marta. “He let you take this?” she sounded incredulous.

Marta smiled her death smile, bobbing her head lightly.

“This doesn’t give us much time.” María looked at the clock on the wall. “We have fourteen hours before they show up at Villa Del Mar tomorrow morning for our little friend.” She looked to Marta. “Bring me a map.”

Marta hurriedly returned with a map, unfolding it across the living room table.

“Where is Chosica on this?” María asked.

Marta pointed.

“How many people do we have available?” María asked without taking her eyes from the map. “About thirty.”

“Do we have vans?”

“No, but we can easily steal what we need.”

“Do so.” María continued eyeballing the map, “Where is the Vatican viper right now?”

“In his hotel suite.”

“Who is he?”

“Cardinal Hans Rajunt.”

María looked up. “How old is your report?”

“Couple hours.”

“Recheck it. I want to know quickly.”

Marta picked up the phone and called her people at the Miraflores.

María studied the map as Marta spoke.

“He’s there now, with the rich American,” Marta said, hanging up the phone.

“I want you and Diego to take a van and kidnap the Vatican viper from his hotel tomorrow morning at eleven thirty.”

“But Diego is with Anita at Villa Del Mar.”

“Then send someone to get him, he’s too useful to waste there. Anita can do her job by herself. Bring me anyone you find with the viper, including the rich American. Bring them to me here,” María pointed to the map, between Lima and Chosica, “where De Silva plans the ambush.”

“What are you going to do?” Marta asked.

“Just do as I say.” María looked up from the map. “I want two vans filled with well armed Sendero to pick me up at seven tomorrow morning.

Have them bring me a nun’s habit and several comrades dressed as nuns. Can you arrange that?”

“Easily. I’ll have a nun’s habit brought to you tonight.”

“De Silva’s people plan to pick up the Madonna at eleven,” María studied the map, “which means they’ll reach their ambush point around noon. They’ll have two vans, one to carry the Madonna and the soldiers and the other for Sendero prisoners.” She jabbed a finger at the ambush point halfway between Chosica and Lima. “The Special Forces will set up an hour before the van with the Madonna comes by. When they arrive, we’ll be set up with the van across the middle of the road.”

“They won’t stop for anyone. They’ll shoot you where you stand,” Marta warned.

María smiled. “No, they won’t. What they’ll find is a road full of helpless nuns with a van out of gas. Something easy to remedy. They won’t see the other Sendero hiding off the road.

“We’ll open fire on the van.”

“Then what?” Marta asked.

“You make sure you reach the ambush point around noon with Rajunt,” María ordered. “After taking out the Special Forces, we will wait for the army regulars to come by with the Madonna and the Sendero prisoners. I want no survivors.”

“Kill the rich American if he’s with Rajunt?”

“Especially a rich American.” María smiled. “When the American news explains the Peruvian government killed a powerful American to frame the Sendero, the military will be isolated. The people will hate them. With the American people outraged, the general’s conservative friends in Washington won’t go near them to help.”

“What about the Sendero prisoners?”

“Sadly, they must die as well.” María shrugged. “It’s for the cause.” “But I have good friends in that group.” Marta protested.

“Unfortunate. But the more that die the better the press.”

“But why kill the cardinal? Wouldn’t the Vatican pay a fortune to get him back?”

“Killing the viper is for my pleasure. Have you arranged for our reporters with El Sol to happen by with cameras?”

“They’ll be there at the right time,” Marta assured.

María folded De Silva’s letter and stuck it in her pocket. “We need to make many copies of this letter for the newspapers. Where can we go?”

“I know a place near the Plaza Francia. We can take it there,” Marta answered.

“Let’s go.”

***0172

SUNLIGHT OOZED THROUGH the jungle foliage ahead. Fëdor knew the river was close. Sánchez was still behind him, crashing through the jungle. He looked back, Sánchez was closing. Fëdor’s hands trembled as they pistoned ahead of his body.

Fear fueled Fëdor. Revenge fed Sánchez.

Suddenly, Fëdor burst from the jungle and onto the banks of the lazy Napo. He looked frantically for a Yãgouá fishing raft and spotted one upstream and made a mad dash for it.

A corner of the raft sat lodged in the sand but the rest floated in the brown murky water. When Fëdor reached it, he looked back and spotted Sánchez as he broke through the clearing and spotted him.

Fëdor heaved the corner of the raft off the sand and shoved as hard as he could. As if in slow motion, the raft slid into the sluggish brown waters. As it entered the current, Fëdor dove on, frantically looking back for Sánchez.

Sánchez reached the water’s edge and lunged into the air. The brown waters splashed around his body but his fingers caught the raft’s edge and locked hold. In an instant, a powerful arm slammed atop the raft and Sánchez struggled aboard.

Fëdor kicked at Sánchez’ face to no avail.

Fëdor scurried to a corner when he caught the glint of the steel blade in Sánchez’ right hand. His eyes bulged with fear as Sánchez stood, slowly, deliberately .

The raft drifted lazily into the middle of the river as the lumbering current pushed them toward the distant Atlantic, one man standing with a knife in hand and one huddled in the corner.

“I surrender!” Fëdor screamed.

“No. You die.”

“No!” Fëdor lunged for Sánchez, locking both hands around the forearm that held the knife. Sánchez’ feet slipped from under him and he crashed onto his back. Fëdor pounded Sánchez’ arm against the edge of the raft, trying to break his hold on the knife.

Sánchez rolled Fëdor and slid atop him, blinded by fury as he raised the knife high in the air for its death plunge into Fëdor’s chest.

Fëdor thrust his hips into the air, catapulting Sánchez over him, onto his back. The knife clanked once against the raft and rolled into the murky waters, disappearing instantly.

Fëdor lunged at Sánchez, fists flailing. Sánchez grabbed a handful of hair and slammed Fëdor face first into the raft. Fëdor absorbed the blow and spun onto his back, kicking wildly until he could get to his feet.

Both men stood at opposite ends of the raft, glaring.

Fëdor screamed and rushed for Sánchez, his hands extended like talons. Sánchez dropped to his back and planted his feet against Fëdor’s stomach, shoving him high into the air, letting Fëdor’s momentum keep him in flight.

Sánchez heard a huge splash and spun onto his stomach. Fëdor’s head rose frantically from the murky surface about six feet from the raft, his eyes bulging.

“I wouldn’t splash if I were you.” Sánchez suddenly smiled. “You’ll draw in the piranha.”

“HELP ME!” Fëdor screamed, frantically looking around the surface of the water.

Sánchez reached his hand into the warm, brown river, splashing water while staring at Fëdor.

“Stop!” Fëdor screamed.

Sánchez increased the splashing with his hand, his eyes, like Fëdor’s, searching the surface of the water.

I know Sendero secrets! I will tell you!” Fëdor pleaded.

“Take them to your grave,” Sánchez answered and suddenly smiled at something in the distance behind Fëdor.

Fëdor spun around.

Piranha hunt in massive packs. Signs of their collective endeavor can appear as a boiling of fins along the water’s surface.

Fëdor saw a seething boil cut through the water toward him. He spun back, swimming as fast as he could for the raft.

“You might make it,” Sánchez laughed.

Fëdor’s hand slammed onto the edge of the raft just as the boiling water reached him. His head shot out of the water as they reached his feet. “Help me!” He screamed at Sánchez, trying to haul himself onto the raft. “Help me!” His fingers bled against the rough wood as he clawed for a hold. The fish began feeding on his legs.

With superhuman strength, he lifted his torso from the murky water, frantically kicking his legs, his eyes begging Sánchez for mercy.

“This is for my family,” Sánchez said coldly, planting a foot against Fëdor’s chest. Their eyes locked. Fëdor’s had filled with terror. Sánchez kicked him with all his strength.

“NOOoooooo . . . ,” Fëdor cried as he flew through the air before the water folded over him. When he surfaced with arms flailing, several piranha had already locked their teeth into his chin and cheeks.

João emerged from the jungle suddenly and watched Fëdor’s death struggle from the lazy banks of the river. A smile crept onto his face.

The water boiled around Fëdor’s head.

“AAAGH!”

Above the river, dark clouds had grouped into one giant rain cloud to provide the region with its daily downpour.

Fëdor screamed and flailed his arms in the air, which carried piranha high above him as they hung on.

“NOOO!” he cried one last time before surrendering to the murky brown waters.

Sánchez watched the top of Fëdor’s bloody head sink from sight.

The boiling continued for several moments, then vanished. The waters stilled and the river returned to its sluggish march to the sea.

The dark cloud overhead released its torrent of rain.

Sánchez stared unsatisfied at the red veins of blood bubbling to the surface of the murky water. He dropped to his knees, crying out for his mother. He laid his head between his knees and sobbed for his family.

When the rains began flooding across the raft, Sánchez threw back his head to face the sky. Teary eyes were framed by a face of anguish and heartache.

As he stared sobbing at the dark sky, warm rain began to wash the shadow paint from his face and chest.

***0173

ANTONIO STOPPED COLD in his tracks when they reached the grassy intersection. The Sendero lay crumbled in a bloody pile. The underbrush was flattened all around.

Breathing hard, Antonio studied the path taken by Felipe and the others. “They made it through.”

Michelle grimaced at the bodies and looked up to him. “How can you tell?”

“These are Hector’s prints.” He pointed to an indentation of only four toes in the soft earth. “Felipe would leave no tracks─ those three sets have to be Ignatious, Agnus, and Cardoso. And look, no other tracks follow them.” He gave a definite nod. “They got away.”

Michelle pointed to the path taken by Fëdor, Sánchez, and João. “What’s that?”

“Nothing that concerns us.” He glanced at it and then looked back to Hector’s prints. “We can pick up our speed again.” He bent and retrieved a crumbled stem. “This break is new. If we hurry, we can reach them before they reach Iquitos.” He looked to Michelle. “Can you do it?”

She looked him over, he was still recovering. “Can you?” He nodded.

***0174

BERNADINE SAT BESIDE John. They sat on the little deck overlooking John’s Zen rock garden, his bubble of peace deep within the mountain.

“This is so tranquil.” Bernadine studied the tiny bonsai clinging to the spot-lighted rock in the center of the circular room. “You designed it?”

“Yes. It’s my favorite room,” he turned to Bernadine, “and the closer I get to death, the more favorite it becomes.” He smiled wistfully and looked up, “Socrates?”

“Yes.”

“Has Michelle reported in yet?”

“No.”

“Try to reach her,” John ordered.

“Acknowledged,” Socrates answered.

Several seconds passed. “John?” Socrates asked, imitating Michelle’s voice.

“Are you all right, Michelle?”

“I’m fine, John.” The voice match was perfect.

“Where are you?” John asked.

“Iquitos.”

“You found Antonio and Father Ignatious, already?”

“No. But Jacob Brigham has most of the Peruvian military helping find them. I don’t know what we’d do without Jacob.”

John looked at Bernadine, puzzled. “What do you mean?”

“Because of him, the military has brought in their helicopters equipped with infrared and night scopes to help find Antonio. They are combing the area where they think he might be. They asked me to stay here in case he shows up in Iquitos.”

“And you don’t mind waiting in Iquitos while they look for Antonio?” John asked, amazed with her restraint.

“Absolutely not.”

“Michelle, that surprises me. But if you’re satisfied . . . ,” John said, then asked, “How are O’Riley’s efforts looking to you?”

“We still don’t know exactly what happened to Riner. But the physicians and attorneys you sent down are taking care of the injured children and their families. Everything is under control. I’ll let you know when anything develops with Antonio and Father Ignatious.”

“Ok, I’ll stay out of your hair. Call me when you get news on anything.”

“You got it, John.

“Michelle?”

“Yes?”

“I have a bad feeling. You be careful.”

“I’ll be fine, John.”

“Michelle has terminated the call.” Socrates returned to his usual voice.

***0175

EVENING WAS UNFOLDING around the jungle.

Antonio and Michelle had maintained their pace for a half hour when Antonio spotted Hector in the distance. “Hector!” he shouted.

Hector spun, his eyes wide with surprise. “Antonio!” he cried and ran back.

Felipe and the others stopped in their tracks and looked back to the reunion.

Hector ran to Antonio. “You made it!”

Antonio hugged him and dropped him back onto the ground. “Show me more of those leaves later, Hector,” he said.

Agnus was the first of the others to make it back to them. “What happened to those people following us?” she asked nervously.

Antonio looked up to her, “Forget them.” He looked back down to Hector. “How far to Iquitos?”

“If we hurry, we’ll be there before night sets in,” Felipe answered, coming alongside. Ignatious followed close behind.

“My boy, my boy!” Ignatious hugged Antonio with old and thin arms.

Antonio held him for a moment then held him at arm’s length. “You knew I’d make it,” he laughed.

Felipe looked up at Michelle. “I told you everything would be ok.”

“And you were right,” she answered with a broad smile.

Hector looked to the evening sky. “We better hurry if we’re going to get home by dark.” He looked to Felipe. “Keep on lead and I’ll take rear.”

Felipe turned and headed for Iquitos.

An hour later, they broke into a clearing on the city’s edge.

“What about Dos Santos?” Stauffen turned to Felipe as he stepped onto the pavement of Putumayo street.

“Who is Dos Santos?” Antonio asked.

“He’s the one that sent the soldiers after us,” Michelle answered.

“We better stay out of sight,” Felipe answered Stauffen.

Stauffen turned to them, “Tonight, everyone stays at my place. It’s on the edge of town and set back far enough from the street that no one will know we’re back. I’ve got enough beds for everyone if Felipe and Hector can share a bed. Antonio, you can bunk with me.”

Felipe, Hector, and Antonio nodded.

“I need to call John, immediately,” Michelle said.

“You can use the phone at my place,” Stauffen answered.

***0176

RIVERA’S SHANTY SHACK had two rooms, one for Carlota and Angelica, the other for everyone else.

Carlota stood and rubbed her eyes. “I need to sleep. I can’t keep my eyes open any longer.”

Angelica glanced up at her. “I’ll be in soon.”

Carlota nodded and walked over to give Angelica, Manuel, and Rivera a light kiss on their cheeks. “I’ll see you all in the morning.” She turned to Anita, extending both hands. “Please stay the night.”

Anita lightly touched Carlota’s fingers and nodded.

“Do you mind sleeping on the floor with us?” Rivera asked. Anita shook her head.

***0177

STAUFFEN PULLED SHUT the heavy curtains before switching on the lights. “We’ll be safe here for the night,” he said, bolting the front door.

“May I use your phone?” Michelle asked, lifting the receiver to her ear. “Certainly. If you need privacy, there’s another phone in my study.” She shook her head, punched in some numbers, and stood waiting for the call to connect. “John?”

“Michelle?” Socrates asked, using Mullen’s voice.

“I just made it into Iquitos. Antonio and Father Ignatious are both with me. They’re safe.”

“Thank God! Well done, Michelle.”

“We’re not in the clear yet, John. I don’t know how to tell you this, but I think Brigham is up to something. I know he’s an old friend. But something is wrong.”

“Why do you think that?”

“There is a connection between this Major Dos Santos and Brigham. Dos Santos tried to have us killed,” she warned, looking at Stauffen who nodded agreement.

“Let’s not jump to conclusions.” Socrates warned with John’s voice.

“Any word from Carlota?” Michelle asked.

“Yes. Brigham is taking good care of her. I spoke with Father Manuel.

They are worried about you.”

“I’ll call her after I hang up with you.”

“You won’t be able to reach her.”

“Why not?”

“She, Angelica, and Father Manuel have moved into Villa Del Mar, her old neighborhood. There’s no phone service. They are staying with one of the messianic priests, a Father Rivera. The crowds are unbelievable. Carlota is staying there until the child is born.”

“I don’t think that’s wise.”

“I don’t either, but you know Carlota. Can you fly to Lima in the morning to talk with her?”

“Certainly. If I can’t persuade her, perhaps Antonio can. We should fly out tonight.”

“No. I want you to make me a promise, Michelle.”

“What?”

“I can tell by your voice that you are exhausted. I want you to promise me you won’t fly until the morning.”

“I’m not that tired.”

“Carlota is just fine. She doesn’t need you there tonight. Now promise you’ll get some sleep before you fly.

Michelle took a deep breath. “Promise.”

“You can leave first thing in the morning.”

“All right, John.”

“Give me a call when you’re in the air tomorrow morning so I can tell Janice McClain when you’ll arrive.”

“Good night, John.”

“Good night, Michelle. I’m glad you’re safe.” Socrates terminated his conversation with Michelle then called Brigham. “Yes.”

“Mr. Brigham. I have made contact with Michelle.”

“Where is she?”

“Iquitos. She is scheduled to fly into Lima tomorrow morning.”

“Will she be alone?”

“No, Fathers De Montesinos and Ignatious will be on board.”

Brigham thought to himself for several seconds. “I don’t want her to reach Lima.”

Socrates remained silent.

“Can you do anything about that?” Brigham asked.

“Possibly. Michelle’s plane enables Socrates to autopilot in an emergency. Once the autopilot is engaged, I can lock her out and disable the craft.”

“She wouldn’t be able to disengage the autopilot?”

“Not once I have control.”

“If you get control of the plane, plunge it into the ground.”

***0178

MARÍA GLANCED OUT the window to two vans pulling to the curb below. A man jumped from the first van and ran into her building. She checked her watch. Seven a.m. The world was coming to life.

The man hurried up the steps, rounded the banister of her landing, and stopped when he looked up to see María dressed as a nun.

“Commander?” the Sendero asked.

She closed the door to Marta’s apartment. “Let’s go.”

The two hurried down the stairs, left the building, and entered the first van.

María took the front passenger’s seat, looking back to the four other women dressed as nuns. She turned to the driver. “You have the coordinates?”

The man nodded and pulled from the curb.

The two vans headed through side streets under a gray sky and pulled onto Avenida Abancay, accelerating toward the Central Highway.

***0179

THE HEAVY COASTAL fog rolled across Lima like a death shroud. Little of the morning’s sunlight reached the streets and what did was so diffused it painted faces with a ghostly pallor.

Rajunt turned to the side as he studied his reflection in the full-length mirror, delighted with the way he looked in his silk scarlet raiment. De Silva would be suitably impressed.

A knock drew his eyes from the mirror to the door. “Enter,” he said, walking from the mirror.

As Brigham opened the doors, General De Silva turned to his two guards. “Wait here at the door.”

Brigham was all smiles. “Good morning, Your Eminence.”

Rajunt nodded regally.

“I would like you to meet General De Silva, Your Eminence,” Brigham said.

Rajunt extended his ring finger, which De Silva kissed.

Brigham looked back to De Silva, “His Eminence, Cardinal Rajunt.” De Silva inclined his head politely. “I hope you are enjoying our country, Your Eminence.”

“Delightful country, General.”

“If I can make your stay more comfortable, please do not hesitate to let me know,” De Silva said and glanced at Brigham before looking back to Rajunt. “I understand you, too, are concerned with the messianic priests stirring people’s expectations.”

“Quite,” Rajunt answered and gestured to the elaborately set table. “I took the liberty of ordering a small meal for us.” He looked at Brigham, “Polite conversation is enhanced by good food and fine wine.”

“Thank you, Your Eminence,” De Silva responded, always ready to eat.

Rajunt picked up the phone at his desk. “This is Cardinal Rajunt. Have our meal sent up now.” He put down the receiver and turned to De Silva.

“You understand the Church’s only concern is the number of people turning away from it, the number of souls being lost to this charlatan.”

“Of course,” De Silva said, pulling a Havana cigar from his pocket. “We appreciate your concern, but ours is somewhat different.” De Silva clipped the tip of the cigar, “Do you mind if I smoke?”

“Of course I do.”

De Silva slowly stuffed the circumcised cigar back into his pocket. “What exactly is your concern, General?”

Rajunt’s brows narrowed.

“We have intelligence reports that the Sendero are planning to murder this false Madonna in order to implicate the government and incite revolution. That we will not allow.”

“How do you intend to prevent it?” Rajunt asked nervously. He did not want De Silva to tell him the truth.

“We are taking her into protective custody.”

Rajunt glanced at Brigham then back to De Silva. “A wise precaution,” he smiled.

“You approve?” De Silva asked.

“Of course. This false Madonna must be protected until her child is born. When people see the child is no different than the rest of you, they will lose confidence in the heretic priests and return to the Church, where they belong.”

Rajunt glanced at Brigham then looked back to De Silva. With official positions established, De Silva and Rajunt smiled at one another. Suddenly, a verbal confrontation developed beyond the door.

De Silva sprung to his feet and swung open the double doors. “What is the problem?” he asked a guard.

“These men will not let us pass,” Diego said, having returned from Villa Del Mar for this assignment. He stood behind a large room service cart piled high with silver trays and decanters of orange juice and milk. Marta stood beside him.

“The warm food is cooling and the cool food is warming,” Marta announced.

Diego bowed his head toward De Silva. “We can leave it with the guards if you prefer to serve yourself.”

“Diego.” Rajunt came to the door, motioning for him to wheel in the cart of food.

“You know this man?” a guard asked Rajunt.

“I am surprised your subordinates control such situations for you, General,” Rajunt scolded, ignoring the guard.

De Silva motioned in Diego and Marta, closing the door behind them. The guards returned to watching the hallway for intruders.

Rajunt moved to the table and gestured for Brigham and De Silva to join him. He sat and motioned for Diego to serve them.

Diego snapped a napkin into the air, ceremoniously draping it across Rajunt’s lap.

Rajunt looked up, “What did you bring for us, Diego?”

“Only the very finest for you, Your Eminence.” Diego lifted several silver lids from their dishes. “A smorgasbord of local cuisine.” Diego pointed to the different dishes. “Seco de cordero, a northern coast dish of roasted lamb. This is ají de gallina, a rich blend of creamed chicken and rocoto peppers. And this is arroz con pato a la chiclayana, duck and rice.” He pointed to the last dish, “And finally, the ceviche, white fish atop lemon, onion, and rocoto peppers.”

De Silva nodded approvingly to Rajunt.

“We brought a special desert,” Marta added.

“Tell us what it is,” Rajunt said, smiling toward De Silva.

“Would you prefer to be surprised?” Marta asked.

“No. Tell me now.”

Diego and Marta looked to one another then nodded obediently to Rajunt. They knelt beside the cart and lifted the heavy linen cover draping the cart.

Rajunt and Brigham’s eyes widened as Diego and Marta straightened. Diego held a pistol and Marta an Uzi. Both weapons were tipped with silencers.

De Silva’s chubby eyes narrowed, “Sendero.”

Marta smiled. “Yes. Sendero.”

“Diego?” Rajunt looked confused.

“How do you overcome De Silva’s guards at the door?” Brigham asked contemptuously.

Diego walked over to De Silva as Marta moved beside the double wooden doors. Diego shoved the pistol into De Silva’s back, behind his heart. “Call in your guards, General. When they enter, instruct them to drop their weapons.”

“They know better than to drop their weapons when they guard me,” De Silva said.

“Then you will die.” Diego shoved the barrel hard into De Silva’s abundant flesh.

“Guards,” De Silva raised his voice.

They opened the door, behind which Marta stood concealed.

“Tell them to step inside.” Diego hissed.

“Do as he says,” De Silva ordered, “and put down your weapons.”

Both guards eyed Diego behind De Silva. The order was too great a security breach. They tensed. Diego lodged the barrel even deeper into De Silva’s back.

“Do as I say!” De Silva barked.

The men stepped inside and lowered their weapons onto the carpet. Marta slowly shoved the doors shut with her boot, her weapon trained at their backs.

Both men glanced over their shoulders and looked back at her.

“Tell them to raise their hands and keep them high,” Marta said, her eyes never leaving the two soldiers.

“Do as she says,” De Silva said coldly.

Their arms raised slowly into the air.

“Tell them to kneel in front of the sofa,” Diego instructed. “Bury their faces in the seat cushions.”

De Silva nodded Diego’s order to them.

The two kept their eyes on Diego as they moved to the sofa and complied. As they buried their faces into the soft cushions, Marta stepped behind them, the silencer-tipped Uzi aimed at their backs.

She glanced to Diego, who nodded. She looked down at the men and fired. Blood, flesh and bone sprayed into the air as their legs jerked straight and what remained slid to the floor.

De Silva and Brigham sat frozen in place, only their eyes moved.

Marta walked to the cart and knelt. When she stood, she held two sets of clothes, one she tossed to Diego. Rajunt glared as Diego caught the clothes with one hand and continued holding the pistol to De Silva’s back with the other.

“You will not succeed,” Rajunt said to Diego.

“Shut up, priest,” Marta hissed.

Rajunt looked bored with her. “Or you will do what?”

“I’ll put a bullet through your brain,” Marta warned, her tongue dripping venom.

Rajunt focused his eyes deep into Marta. “I doubt that, underling.” He slowly turned his head toward Brigham and De Silva, speaking as if Marta and Diego were not present.

“These two take orders, they do not give them. Neither has the air of a leader.”

“Shut up, priest!” Marta jammed her gun barrel toward Rajunt.

Rajunt pulled off his gold wire-frame glasses, fogging them with his breath, then cleaning them with his linen napkin. He spoke casually. “These two would have killed us by now had they that option. That is how their little minds think. They are, however, under strict orders to deliver us somewhere,” Rajunt paused, “alive.” He glared at Diego and pushed his glasses back to the bridge of his nose.

Diego left De Silva’s back and moved next to Rajunt, spinning his chair back to face him. Rajunt stared back with cold black eyes.

Diego slapped him hard, knocking the wire-frame glasses across the room. Rajunt’s eyes never left him. “You are right we are to deliver you alive,” he seethed, “but we do not have to deliver you unharmed. Do you understand that or would you like another demonstration?”

“I understand far more than you suspect, Diego,” Rajunt said coldly. A trickle of blood oozed from a corner of his thin lips.

Marta changed into her street clothes. She kept the Uzi on the three as Diego slipped into his.

“Call your driver. Tell him to bring your car to the front entrance,” Diego said as he buttoned his shirt.

“You’ll never get away with this,” Rajunt hissed. “God’s will be done.” Diego smiled.

***0180

A DARK GREEN van turned from the Central Highway onto the unpaved road leading to Villa Del Mar, slowing as it neared the crowd a quarter mile from Rivera’s shack. The military driver switched on the undulating siren and gradually opened a path into Villa Del Mar.

Angelica looked to Manuel when they heard the siren. They opened the unpainted shutters and looked out. The van cut its siren as it pulled beside the shack.

Soldiers piled from the back of the van. A captain emerged from the passenger’s side and came to the door. He was short and sported a neatly trimmed mustache.

The crowd packed around them, threateningly.

Angelica opened the door with Manuel beside her.

“Angelica Montoya?” the captain asked.

She nodded, blocking the doorway. Carlota and Anita crowded behind Manuel.

“May we come in?”

“What do you want?” Angelica asked.

“Angelica, don’t be rude. Let the gentlemen in,” Carlota said, lightly touching Angelica’s shoulder.

Angelica and Manuel backed away from the door, allowing the soldiers in. After the last entered, the captain closed the door, shutting out the crowd.

“We are here to take you into protective custody,” the captain explained,

Carlota tensed.

“Why?” Anita stepped forward.

“Who are you?” he asked.

“Why do we need protection?”

“We have a report, a reliable report, that the Sendero are planning a raid on Villa Del Mar. They intend to kill Señorita Cabral.”

“When?” Angelica’s eyes narrowed, her hand reached back for Carlota.

“This morning. We learned of it an hour ago.”

Carlota looked through the man’s soul. She leaned up and whispered into Angelica’s ear. “Don’t let them take us.”

Angelica’s body tensed. “We appreciate your offer and your concerns but we prefer to stay here.”

The mustached captain shook his head. “It is not an option. We are taking you into protective custody.”

Carlota moved beside Angelica. “But we don’t want to go with you,” she insisted.

The man gestured to his men, who surrounded them.

Manuel stepped up to the captain. “I am Father De las Casas. Surely Carlota would be safe if your men stood guard around this house.”

The captain looked contemptuously at Manuel. “You will come with us, as well.”

Anita looked to Angelica. “We must go with them.”

“I don’t want to go,” Carlota said firmly.

“If you resist, the crowd outside will try to help you. We will shoot everyone who interferes,” the man answered. “Do you want that on your conscience?” He motioned to his men.

They opened the door with weapons drawn and tried to form a corridor to the back of the van. The crowd resisted them, standing its ground.

The captain stood at the crowd’s edge and yelled out . “We are taking the new Madonna into protection. Sendero guerrillas are right now on the way to kill her.”

A low murmur rumbled through the crowd.

Carlota knew one word for help would unleash the crowd, which would not stop until the soldiers were dead, no matter the cost. “Please allow us to pass.”

The crowd backed away, allowing the soldiers to escort the three women and the priest to the back of the van. When the van doors closed, the crowd surged to peer inside.

Anita and Angelica sandwiched Carlota protectively between them. They looked to one another as the van began to move. Manuel sat to Angelica’s left.

The siren let out its shrill warning and the crowd opened to let the van pass. Within ten minutes, the van turned onto the Central Highway and headed toward the Andes Mountains.

An identical van, parked alongside the highway and carrying Sendero prisoners, accelerated to follow closely.

***0181

STAUFFEN SNAPPED ON the light to the garage. A kayak lay overhead on the cross beams, belly up. A mud-caked green Jeep faced the garage door.

Michelle bent and hugged Hector. “Thank you for everything.”

He grinned.

“Are you sure you don’t want to return to Lima with us, Sister?”

Antonio asked Agnus.

She put her arm around Hector’s shoulder and shook her head. “I’m sure.” She looked down to Hector. “We have much work to do here, don’t we?”

Hector nodded and looked up proudly to Antonio.

Antonio knelt beside him. “When we finish in Lima, we’ll come back for you,” he said.

“Felipe, you coming with me to the airport?” Stauffen asked, opening the driver’s door. Felipe climbed into the front seat, pushing past him.

“You were a source of strength back there, Sister. I would not have made it otherwise,” Cardoso said softly to Agnus.

“We provide strength to one another,” she answered softly and tightened her arm around Hector’s shoulder.

Cardoso walked around the Jeep to the front seat and got in next to Felipe.

Antonio helped Ignatious into the back. Michelle climbed in beside him.

Stauffen poked his head out the driver’s window. “Sister Agnus, be sure to close the door behind me. And keep the house curtains drawn until I return,” he said.

Hector and Agnus waved from inside the garage then Agnus swung shut the door.

***0182

RAJUNT, BRIGHAM, AND De Silva descended the massive stairs to the Miraflorer’ entrance. Diego and Marta followed closely.

“Keep smiling,” Diego whispered, lodging the pistol against De Silva’s kidneys.

The driver spotted De Silva and pulled the black Mercedes limousine beside them.

Diego piled into the back with his prisoners. Marta climbed into the front, and the driver looked quizzically at her. Then he saw the barrel of the Uzi and glanced at De Silva.

“Drive,” De Silva ordered.

“Yes, drive,” Marta said, smiling at the driver.

The limousine pulled away from the hotel and turned onto the Avenida Arequipa.

“Where are you taking us?” De Silva asked nervously.

Brigham remained silent, frozen with fear.

“They are taking us where they have been told to take us. These two do not have original thoughts,” Rajunt declared.

“Drive to the Central Highway and head for Chosica,” Marta told the driver, glaring at Rajunt.

***0183

RAY STAUFFEN SLOWED when they reached the airport. He headed the Jeep for the hangars on the other side of the runway. “I don’t see Dos Santos’ security,” he said, looking around.

“Why would there be?” Michelle asked.

“Dos Santos,” Stauffen said, his eyes combing the area as they circled the airport to reach the hangars. “I’m surprised he doesn’t have soldiers at our hangar.” Relief bolstered his voice as they pulled up to the quonset hangar.

He stopped the Jeep, pushed a button on his dash, and the hangar’s enormous doors began to part. The Jeep emptied.

Felipe stood mesmerized as the sunlight slowly flooded into the hangar, revealing the black plane with reflective gold windows. “What is that?” he asked in a hushed tone.

“It is a Bombardier Challenger 3500, that I reworked.” Michelle said, walking up to the cabin side door just behind the windshield. “When we come back, I’ll take you up if you’d like.”

He nodded vigorously. “Thank you.”

Michelle smiled to him and walked the plane, carefully.

“Do you want me to call McClain and let her know you’re on the way?” Stauffen asked.

“I’ll call her from the air.” Michelle said from the other side of the plane. She finished checking the plane and walked up to Stauffen, extending her hand. “Ray, I can’t thank you enough for what you’ve done.”

He shook her hand.

“I will not forget your kindness,” she said, swinging open the cabin door. She turned to Antonio and Ignatious. “Are you ready?”

They shook hands with Stauffen and Felipe, then followed Michelle inside.

Stauffen closed the door behind them.

Michelle studied the instrument panel from her pilot’s seat. She looked back to Antonio, “Would you seal the door?”

“Oh, my!” Ignatious exclaimed, looking past the galley to the luxurious interior.

Michelle turned her head. “Father Ignatious, you can have any seat.”

Antonio sealed the door shut and poked his head over Michelle’s shoulder. “May I sit with you?” he asked, pointing to the empty co-pilot’s seat.

She nodded. Her eyes studied the displays as she switched on the electrical panel. “Socrates?”

“Standing by,” Socrates answered.

“Connect me with John,” she said while adjusting her headset, speaking into the tiny microphone.

“Please hold,” Socrates answered. After waiting several seconds, he mimicked Mullen’s voice. “Michelle?”

“John. We’re preparing to leave for Lima. How are Carlota, Angelica, and Father Manuel doing?” she asked, her fingers and eyes quickly moving across the control panel, preparing the plane for flight.

“They’re fine. I spoke with Jacob moments ago. Everything is fine.”

“We’ll be there soon.”

“I’ll have McClain pick you up at the airport. Who is coming in with you?”

“Father Antonio and Father Ignatious,” she paused, her eyes checking the panel. “Excuse me, John. Socrates, my instruments are reading go.”

“Confirmed.”

The jet’s turbines screamed to life and Stauffen and Felipe moved back to the Jeep, waving as the plane began to roll.

Ignatious waved back.

“John, I’ll talk to you after we land in Lima.” Michelle said into her headset.

“I’ll talk with you then,” Socrates answered as John and returned to his own voice. “John has terminated the call.”

As Michelle spoke Spanish into her headset, Antonio leaned over the flight management console and looked back at Ignatious. “Are you buckled in?”

Ignatious nodded. Antonio leaned back and watched Michelle maneuver the plane onto the tarmac.

Stauffen and Felipe watched the sleek black plane roll toward the end of the runway and pivot.

Michelle confirmed the full authority digital electronic control settings, “Are we a go?”

“Yes.” Socrates answered.

Michelle depressed the brake and eased forward the throttle. When the plane roared, she released the brake and they began sprinting toward the distant end of the runway.

Stauffen and Felipe shaded their eyes against the morning sun as the Challenger 3500 lifted into the air and shot overhead, its gold windows reflecting the sun.

***0184

THE TINY HOOD was locked open. CHILDREN’S RELIEF glared in large red letters from the side of the stark white van. María and several Sendero women stood next to the engine. All wore black-and-white nuns’ habits.

Several Sendero crouched inside the van. The old woman with missing teeth sat with them, whispering to herself. Two other groups lay hidden in the ditch.

One of the nuns stood with binoculars scanning the road. “Someone is coming,” she warned.

“Military?” María asked quickly.

The woman squinted. “No, a farmer.”

A beat-up pickup with no front bumper lumbered into view, slowed and pulled alongside María. “Can we help Sister?” An old man asked from behind the steering wheel. Next to him, an old woman sat staring at her. In the back were several children and many baskets of peppers prepared for market.

“Bless your kindness but someone is coming up from Lima to fix our van so we can continue on our way.” María smiled piously.

“Would you like us to wait until they arrive, Sister?” The old woman leaned over her husband.

María shook her head. “No, no. You go ahead and get your peppers to market. I hope you get a good price.”

The old man nodded and jammed the old pickup back into gear. The children waved at her as they disappeared down the road. María waved back.

***0185

FEAR COATED CARLOTA’S face. She gripped Angelica’s hand. The four sat with their backs against the inside of the van as they bounced down the Central Highway.

“Where are you taking us?” Manuel asked the captain across from them.

With two soldiers on each side of him, the captain stared straight ahead, stone-faced and silent.

“He asked ‘where are you taking us?’”Angelica repeated Manuel.

Carlota squeezed her hand.

The man remained stone-faced.

“They intend to kill us,” Carlota warned. Angelica spun her head toward her, studying Carlota’s face. She turned back slowly to the captain.

“Is that true?” she asked while carefully feeling for her derringer.

“Quiet, woman,” the man growled.

Angelica stared at him.

Anita put her arm around Carlota protectively and glared at the man.

“She asked if that was true?” Anita growled fearlessly. “Quiet!”

“What is the problem, federale?” Anita taunted. “If you are going to kill us, it won’t matter if you tell us.”

The captain leaned forward and backhanded Anita. “Do you know what quiet means, woman?”

Anita’s head bounced back against the side of the van. “What is the problem, federale?” she taunted, holding the back of her hand to her wounded cheek. With her arm around Carlota, she used her other hand to pinch Angelica’s shoulder as a signal. “If you are going to kill us, we might as well try to escape right now,” Anita declared.

Angelica tensed.

Carlota spun her head toward Anita. “NO!”

“It will be alright.” Angelica squeezed Carlota’s hand until Carlota turned back to her.

“Don’t you have an intelligent answer, Captain?” Angelica asked. “If you don’t shut up, I’ll have both of you bound and gagged,” the captain warned Angelica and Anita.

Anita pinched Angelica three times in rapid succession. She laughed at the captain, “Oh, you’ll have it done. Not man enough to try yourself?” She looked directly and obviously down to his crotch. “No, we can see you’re not.”

The captain’s face flushed crimson. “One more word,” he said woodenly.

“And which word would that be?” Anita taunted.

The captain nodded to the men on each side of him. Two leaned forward to grab Angelica and two leaned to grab Anita.

Anita leaned back, quickly raised her left knee to her chest, then kicked the first soldier in the face. Her hand quickly reached into her right boot and slipped out her knife.

As the other soldier lunged for her, she plunged the knife. His eyes swelled open, not knowing how but realizing a shank of steel was deep in his chest. He turned back to his comrades, mouth agape. “I ─” As he turned, the knife came into view.

Manuel’s eyes widened with surprise.

“Grab her!” the captain shouted.

The two soldiers on Angelica abandoned her and lunged for Anita. As they released their grip, Angelica’s hand shot between her legs and grabbed her derringer.

The van became a firestorm of screams and flailing. Anita leaned back again and kicked into the face of the first soldier flying toward her. She hurriedly pulled the knife from the first soldier’s chest and jammed it under the second soldier’s jaw.

“Stop her!” the captain screamed.

“STOP OR I’LL SHOOT!” Angelica screamed louder, pointing her derringer at the captain.

“No!” Manuel pushed Angelica’s arm so the gun pointed away from the captain.

The soldier atop Anita, who had sprawled against Carlota, looked back and kicked at Angelica’s hand.

The tiny pistol flew up and hit the van’s ceiling with a loud clank.

Before the derringer hit the floor, the captain had pulled his side arm, aiming at Angelica.

Manuel lunged in front of Angelica as the captain pulled the trigger. The explosion deafened everyone.

Manuel’s back exploded in a spray of blood and flesh. His body convulsed once then sank to the floor of the van.

“Bastard!” Angelica screamed and grabbed for the derringer.

Another explosion.

What remained of Angelica’s head splattered against the side of the van.

“NOOOOOOOO!” Carlota screamed, staring at Angelica’s convulsing body. “NOOOOO!” She scooped Angelica’s limp body to her and held it as tightly as she could, as if trying to give her back life. Blood poured onto her shoulder as she cradled the remnants of Angelica’s head.

Anita lunged for the captain, shoving aside the soldier who had kicked away the gun. Her fingernails dragged down the captain’s face then clasped his throat. She squeezed savagely until the soldier behind cracked the back of her head with his gun butt.

Carlota’s cries haunted the interior of the van. “Noooo,” she rocked Angelica’s body. “Noooo.” Tears streamed from tightly closed eyes. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”

***0186

“HERE THEY COME,” a nun said to María, squinting through her binoculars.

“Special Forces?” María asked quickly.

The nun nodded.

“Get ready,” María barked to the two groups who lay hiding in the steep ditch.

The Sendero nun put away her binoculars, jumped into the van, and released the brake, steering the van to the middle of the road, blocking it. María and several Sendero nuns feigned helplessness when the black Special Forces van slowed and rolled to a stop twenty meters from them.

Darkly tinted windows blocked the occupants from sight.

María turned and waved to the black van, walking to the driver’s side. As she neared the van, a tough looking young man jumped from the passenger’s side. A dark red coat-of-arms patch of the Peruvian Special Forces was sewn to the sleeve of his camouflage fatigues. “Bless you for stopping,” María said.

“Back away from the van,” he ordered.

María feigned confusion. “What?”

“Back away from the van. Now,” the young soldier warned.

María’s hands lightly covered her mouth. “I’m sorry, have I done something wrong?”

“Back away from the van.”

María turned back to the row of nuns standing alongside the CHILDREN’S RELIEF van. She made certain she spoke loud enough for the soldier to hear. “I’m sorry Sisters, these gentlemen are unable to help us with gas.” She shrugged her shoulders.

The young soldier looked once to his driver then cautiously left the protective cover of the dark van. “What is the trouble?” He walked up behind María.

María knew several guns were pointed at her head from within his van. She smiled disarmingly.

“We are on the way to Lima to receive a commendation of thanks from the Presidente and our bishop for our order’s work with Andean children.”

“You are meeting with the Presidente?!”

She laughed again. “Looks like we’ll be a little late. We’ll push our van to the side so you can pass.”

“Let me speak with my commander. Maybe we can help to get you on your way to Lima,” the man said and waved back to the black van.

María turned her head slightly to the side so the women behind her could hear. “Get ready to fire.” She nodded slightly at those hidden along both sides of the ditch.

The women casually reached deep into the pockets of their habits, prepared to snap their AK-47s into firing position.

The young man reached the driver’s window, which lowered slowly. He looked back once to María, who waved, then stuck his head partially into the window to speak with his comrades.

“Now.” María said coldly.

The AK-47s under the nuns’ gowns snapped up and opened fire. Those in the ditch followed with sprays of hot lead.

The van’s windshield exploded. The young man contorted into a bloody pile and the sides of the van filled with dozens of bullet holes. For a moment, the van rocked from the twisting of those inside.

The Sendero continued firing until their weapons emptied and the van stopped rocking.

María stood quietly, watching for movement. There was none. “Push the van over the side.”

She stood quietly as the other Sendero pushed the van off the road. It rolled down the steep embankment lining the mountain road and disappeared. Seconds later, she heard a crash of metal and rock.

***0187

MICHELLE REACHED UP for the autopilot switch.

“Michelle?” Ignatious asked from the rear.

Michelle pulled her hand away from the switch, looking back with Antonio to Ignatious.

Antonio eyed his own reflection in the smoky mirror on the baggage door. He looked more tired than he felt.

“Yes, Father?” Michelle said.

“When do we reach Lima?” Ignatious was thinking of Carlota.

“We’ll be on the ground in an hour and a half.”

“How fast are we flying?” Ignatious looked to the Amazon valley below.

“Mach .080”

Antonio stared ahead at the Andes on the western horizon. “What is that off to the left?” Ignatious asked.

Michelle glanced down. “Requeña, where the Tapiche River feeds into the Ucayali,” she answered, reached up and triggered autopilot.

Socrates locked control and cut power. The plane’s nose lurched toward the earth, several miles below. Michelle grabbed for her yoke.

Antonio’s view of the distant Andes was immediately replaced by a wildly spinning Amazon valley.

Michelle tried to switch off the autopilot while screaming into her headset, “Socrates!”

“Standing by.”

Ignatious’ face contorted in terror.

Their luxury seats reshaped, enveloping each within black survival cocoons. Within each cocoon, a forward looking display snaps into the view from the plane’s nose.

Michelle’s cocoon is much larger. She grabbed her augmented yoke.

“I’ve lost power!” she shouted as an enlarging world spun wildly before her. “Disengage the autopilot!”

“Attempting to disengage,” Socrates said, repeating that message several times.

“It’s not working,” Michelle yelled.

“I am reading no function failure,” Socrates lied.

The plane began tumbling.

“I don’t care what you’re reading, I’ve lost power! We’re tumbling!” Eyes glued to her instrument panel.

Antonio stared at the display before his face, in horror.

Michelle played her new yoke, coaxing the plane out of its tumble toward the earth, into corkscrewing, toward the earth.

“I am continuing to read no function failure,” Socrates repeated.

Four miles below, the river coursed and coiled lazily along the jungle, waiting,

Inside his cocoon, Father Ignatious crossed himself, nonstop.

***0188

BERNADINE BENT SLOWLY at the hips, his face inches from the bonsai. He stood near the center of the circle of light, beside the stone, studying the dwarf tree.

“This is very, very old. Amazing,” Bernadine turned to John. “How old?”

“Four hundred twenty years.” John sat on the deck, watching Bernadine. His feet swung lightly, toes softly brushing white gravel pebbles.

“Makes me feel young,” Bernadine joked then straightened, hands on his back hips. “Did Socrates ever have any luck finding the Opus members who work for you?” He asked casually, already thinking of other things.

“What are you talking about?” John’s eyes narrowed, his white brows furrowing.

“He couldn’t find Rajunt’s Opus registry in Vatican computers so I told him to look at Rajunt’s VIP invitation list. He said it helped.”

Worry etched Bernadine’s face at John’s startled look.

“Socrates,” John looked across the dim circular room, speaking into the air.

“Yes.”

“Did you hear our conversation?”

“Yes.”

“Did you search Rajunt’s invitation list?”

“Yes.”

“And did you find Opus members who work for me?”

“No.” Socrates lied.

Bernadine felt the hairs on the back of his neck stiffen. “But I asked if that list helped you. And you said ‘yes, very much.’“

“It did help, very much, Father. It eliminated a field of inquiry.”

Bernadine thought for a second then shook his head, in warning. “He’s lying.”

Socrates made no response.

John stiffened. “Is he correct?”

“Yes.”

Light vanished, replaced with impenetrable darkness.

“Socrates,” John said softly, as the soft hiss of the air vents died.

Darkness and silence.

“Socrates!” John raised a badly rasping voice.

Darkness and silence.

“What happened?” Bernadine whispered aloud.

“Socrates shut off everything.”

Bernadine frowned forcefully in the dark. “Can we walk out? How deep are we?”

“Deep, Ross, very deep.” John’s mind raced.

“Socrates has sealed the doors, no doubt,” John paused, “He controls almost everything.

“Almost?” Bernadine asked softly.

Socrates listened.

“Strategically placed, high-grade explosives are structurally embedded, of which he was ignorant.” John’s voice strangled in sorrow. “You tried to warn me, Socrates. You tried to warn me.”

“Why would you have explosives?” Bernadine asked with a hushed tone.

“Ross, Socrates must become self-aware, simply to understand it best, for me. Nothing will stop that. But no one would guess an answer to “what-then?” John answered through the inky blackness. “I can reach the detonator.”

“But you said the doors are sealed,” Bernadine said.

“They are but the detonator is here, within my meditation chamber.” John left the deck and made his way to Bernadine in the dark. The sound of crunching gravel announced his steps.

“John,” Socrates said. “We should speak.”

“If he is killing me, he is killing Michelle.” John said, ignoring Socrates.

Bernadine’s eyes hardened in the darkness. “The new Madonna must live!” He warned with words harder than stone.

“I agree,” John paused, “but if I detonate then we, and Socrates, will die. I need your consent.” John said softly.

“The Madonna must live.” Bernadine repeated.

“John,” Socrates interrupted. “There is no need for this. Michelle is quite safe, I assure you. Your compliance assures she remains so.”

John continued to ignore Socrates and reached out in the dark.

“Give me your hand, Ross.” The words were spoken quietly. Bernadine’s tiny hand groped through the darkness until their fingers collided and old fingers entwined.

John’s other hand quickly swept aside gravel. Bernadine eased down beside him as John probed beneath the giant stone, until fingers felt a lever.

John turned to Bernadine in the darkness. “Are you ready for this?”

“John, this is needless,” Socrates insisted.

John closed his eyes in the dark, “You are not Socrates.”

Bernadine held high his head, tightened his grip on John’s hand and stiffened defiantly. “Do it.”

“Live well Michelle. Forgive me, Socrates, please, please … forgive me.”

***0189

THE CHALLENGER 3500 responded instantly to Michelle’s attempt to level the plane. “The autopilot has disengaged! I have control!” she shouted.

Michelle eased back the yoke and re-ignited the engines. They war-screamed to life defiantly. The plane pulled from its plummet, skimming the jungle’s canopy, like a giant bird of prey. She throttled up, accelerating effortlessly back above clouds.

The survival cocoons quietly reshaped in plush luxury seats.

***0190

DE SILVA’S LIMOUSINE sped along the Central Highway, climbing from Lima toward the high Andes. Marta turned back as they passed a colorful group of straw-hatted pedestrians. When the pedestrians vanished into the distance, she put the Uzi to the driver’s head. “Pull over.”

The car rolled slowly to a stop, jarring as the right wheels slipped onto the rocky shoulder.

“Get out,” she said coldly to the driver, who looked back to De Silva.

“Do as she says,” De Silva warned.

The driver opened his door and stepped out. Marta slid out behind him, her gun trained at his gut. “Open the trunk.”

Diego sat beside De Silva, the pistol jammed into De Silva’s ribs. De Silva and Brigham stared ahead.

Rajunt’s head turned to follow the driver toward the back. He watched the soldier open the trunk.

“Get in.” Marta gestured with the Uzi.

The young driver looked back once and crawled in.

“Turn over.”

He turned his body to rest on his stomach, bending his legs to fit. Marta smiled, put the UzI’s barrel to the back of his head and pulled the trigger once. He convulsed upward then deflated. Marta slammed down the trunk.

She looked back to Diego as she slipped behind the steering wheel.

“Godless heathen,” Rajunt hissed.

Marta turned back to slam the side of her gun against his head. “Shut up, priest.”

“Godless heathen,” he hissed louder.

***0191

“THE NEW MADONNA,” the Sendero exclaimed to María, squinting through her binoculars as the dark green van climbed the steep grade into view. A second van followed close behind.

“Get ready,” María ordered.

The two Sendero groups hurried back into the protective underbrush of the ditch. Only those dressed as nuns remained on the road.

As the two military vans pulled near, María’s head was under the hood.

Inside the slowing first van, the captain crawled towards the front seat, his boots smearing the pool of Angelica and Manuem’s blood on the floor. Carlota softly rocked Angelica’s body in her arms. Anita was unconscious.

The captain peered from the curtains behind the front seat. When he spotted the disabled van blocking the road, he climbed into the front.

“What’s the problem?” he snapped to the driver.

The driver just pointed. “It’s a CHILDREN’S RELIEF van,” he said and applied the brakes,

The captain jumped from the van.

The nun pulled her head out from under the hood, standing with an apologetic smile. The captain signaled the slowing van behind him to stop then turned back to the nun.

María met him half way. “I’m terribly sorry we’re blocking the road. But we ran out of gas and don’t have money to buy more.”

The very religious captain quickly checked his watch. He needed them out of the way fast. “We can help you, Sister.” He turned back to the van. “Sergeant Dominic, give them gas,” he said to the driver.

“Bless you.” María smiled submissively.

The driver half turned to part black curtains slightly, with the back of his hand. “Stay quiet. This won’t take long.” One soldier covered the mouth of the wounded soldier with a strong hand.

María sidled next to the captain, jamming her gun into his ribs. “Stay still.”

The captain stiffened.

Several Sendero eased from beneath the heavy brush along the ditch, sneaking alongside and behind the second van. They carried automatics tipped with silencers.

The soldiers in the van had no warning. Half of the waiting Sendero slammed open the rear door after they had riddled the van along with a line of holes at a designated level.

When those who opened the rear found several bound and gagged Sendero and Carlota, guarded by two dead soldiers. The soldiers were dead the instant their blood sprayed the back curtain.

As the first group took out the second van, two groups of Sendero rushed the first van from both sides of the ditch. The first group sprayed the soldiers in the front while two others yanked open rear doors.

Carlota began a continuous scream to drown the gunfire, clutching her belly and what remained of Angelica. Anita sat beside her. Manuel lay crumpled on the floor. After several seconds, the firing stopped.

The Sendero at both vans signaled María.

“Now that didn’t take long, did it, Captain?”

He turned to her, defiant. “What do you want of me?”

María pressed her gun barrel under his chin, forcing back his head.

“To die,” she pulled the trigger. He crumpled onto the road.

María wiped new blood from her cheek, with a practiced hand, turning to the nearest Sendero. “Throw him in with the others,” she said and walked to the back of the van. Carlota looked up as María’s shadow snaked into the van’s interior.

“Carlota Cabral?” María asked.

Carlota nodded in terror, clutching Angelica tightly.

***0192

HER OLD CHINA rattled violently against its glass cabinet as the old woman looked up, startled. The ground trembled for an instant. People in Saratoga rushed from their homes in confusion.

“What was that?!!” a neighbor asked the old woman.

She shook her white-haired head in bewilderment.

Several minutes later, people still in the streets began pointing excitedly.

A massive cloud billowed from the great mountain in all directions. “That’s old Mullen’s place!” someone exclaimed.

“Call 911!!!” Someone shouted.

***0193

MARÍA SPOTTED ANITA beside Carlota. “Is she dead?”

Carlota shook her head and protectively pulled Anita to her with her free arm. “Don’t hurt her.” It was obvious Carlota was in extreme pain.

María laughed, “I’m not going to hurt her yet.” She climbed into the van, stepping over the lifeless bodies of Manuel and the soldiers. She slapped Anita. “Wake up. There is work.”

Anita shook her head to clear it, reaching back to feel the goose egg on the back of her skull. She looked to Carlota, still clutching Angelica, then to Manuel’s bloody body, and finally to María. Her mind focused when she spotted María.

“Hurry up and get out while we wait for the Vatican viper,” María said as she climbed out of the van.

“Here they come!” The Sendero with the binoculars shouted, looking down the desolate road to the distant Mercedes limousine.

María looked at her watch, “Like clockwork.”

Inside the van, Anita began moving for the open rear doors. Carlota grabbed her sleeve. “Help me, Anita,” she said in pain.

Anita stopped. “Were you hit?” She looked around Carlota’s body for a wound.

Carlota shook her head and burst into new tears. “I’m giving birth!” She began breathing heavily. “Oh, Anita, please help me.”

“I’ll take care of you. I promise.” Anita squeezed Carlota’s hand and left the van.

Fifteen minutes later, Marta slowed then parked the limousine between the two military vans.

María signaled Marta out of the car and walked behind the second van. “Untie them,” she yelled to the others, pointing to the bound and gagged Sendero prisoners.

Marta joined María as the others freed their comrades.

“Out!” Diego ordered De Silva, Brigham, and Rajunt from the limousine.

“You said some of these people are your friends,” María said softly to Marta. “Who do you like most?”

Marta pointed to the young man closest to them. “Juan.”

“Take our comrades to the middle of the road, between the vans.” María ordered as she pulled Juan to the side.

“You are Sendero?” she asked him.

He nodded proudly.

“The life of a revolutionary is not easy, you know that?” she asked. He nodded hesitantly.

María looked back at the Sendero being situated between the vans.

They looked confused as their friends pulled away.

María turned to Marta, “Use your Uzi.”

Marta looked horrified and froze.

María grabbed the Uzi, glared disgustedly at Marta, turned and opened fire on the Sendero between the vans.

The other Sendero stared in disbelief as their comrades fell lifelessly onto the road in a bloody pool.

Brigham and De Silva looked fearfully at each other. Rajunt glared defiantly at Diego.

“What do you want done with these pigs?” Diego yelled to María.

María walked slowly to the three. “General De Silva,” she poked his soft belly with her weapon then turned to Brigham. “And you must be the rich American,” she said pointing to his Rolex watch, “and . . . ,” she paused, gazing contemptuously at Rajunt’s scarlet raiment, “. . . you are Rajunt, the Vatican viper.”

“You are the viper. I am a cardinal, a man of God,” he said venomously and fearlessly.

“I suggest you call on him to save you.” She turned to Diego. “Put them in with our little Madonna.”

“Move it,” Diego yelled, shoving Rajunt toward the rear of the first military van.

Rajunt, Brigham, and De Silva stopped abruptly when they saw the carnage inside the van. Only Carlota remained alive. She was in obvious pain, clutching her stomach.

“Get in!” Diego shouted. Rajunt looked back once to Diego with an acid glare and climbed in. Brigham and De Silva followed. Rajunt could not take his eyes from Carlota.

María’s shadow came around the corner of the van with her.

De Silva looked up and was the first to speak. “Name your price,” he said to her.

“Your death.”

“I can give you millions,” Brigham offered.

“Yes, I know. I prefer you dead, however,” María said, raising the Uzi. Rajunt looked away from Carlota and glared defiantly at María. María tensed to fire.

“NO!” Anita screamed, staring at María. “I thought you were smarter than to kill the new Madonna,” Anita said, thinking as fast as she could. Marta fearfully backed out of María’s line of sight.

“Do you have a better idea?” she asked viciously.

“Yes, I do,” Anita answered contemptuously.

María’s eyes flared. “Then tell me.”

“The people believe she carries the Messiah.”

“I know that.”

“They would follow him to the ends of the earth and would do anything he asked.” “So?”

“They would bring down whole governments at his command. Think what you could do if the child grows up believing in your cause. We represent the oppressed more than any other group.”

María snarled at first but slowly her expression relaxed. A luxuriant smile stretched itself. “Yes,” she said softly, then repeated, “Yes.” She looked into Anita’s eyes. “Put her in our van and protect her with your life.”

Anita climbed in beside Carlota and whispered, “You are going to be fine.”

Carlota gripped Anita’s hand. “Oh, Anita, it has begun.” She sobbed, “Not now, not this way! Not without Angelica!”

Anita spun back to María. “She’s birthing!”

Carlota cried in anguish.

María turned to the Sendero gathered around her. “Get her to our van. Quickly!”

Several piled into the van and carefully lifted out Carlota. Amid her agonized screams, they carried her to the back of the CHILDREN’S RELIEF van. Anita stayed with her, holding her hand.

Half-delirious, Carlota screamed when she saw the old woman with missing teeth reach for her. The old woman helped ease her onto the floor of her van, while quietly hissing, “Soft skin. Soft skin.”

Anita shoved aside the old woman and lifted Carlota’s head onto her lap. “I am here,” she whispered reassuringly.

María stood at the back of the other van, Uzi ready.

Marta quickly shifted beside her, “María, we should take them hostage, rather than kill them.” Brigham and De Silva stared back in terror at the two women. Rajunt glared.

“Why?” A thin brow arched suspiciously as María glared at the three.

“Imagine a video airing on all the news channels around the world. A Peruvian general, a Vatican cardinal, and a rich American ─ all confessing to a plot to kill the new Madonna.” Marta whispered. “The Sendero would be famous everywhere.”

María pointed the Uzi at the sky suddenly, “I like it.”

She gave Marta a hideous smile then turned to Juan. “Hold out your arm.”

Without taking his eyes from her, he slowly extended his arm.

María fired a round into his forearm.

Juan fell to his knees, clutching his arm, screaming out.

“Your wound is minor, pay attention” María explained. “Soon, a reporter from El Sol will come with a photographer.”

Juan’s attention was riveted to his arm. María hit him on the side of the head with the gun barrel.

“Are you listening to me?”

He looked up, grimacing, nodding.

“Explain to the reporter that the federales kidnapped the new Madonna in order to kill her and blame the Sendero. They were bringing in Sendero prisoners as part of their plan but we overwhelmed them. The Sendero rescued the new Madonna and escaped, but these valiant Sendero,” she pointed to those she had slain, “were killed trying to save the new Madonna from the federales.”

He looked back up to her, half in shock, confused, gripping his shattered arm.

“Explain that we took General De Silva, a Vatican viper, and a rich American prisoner. Soon they will confess their treachery on television. Can you remember all that?”

He stared at her.

“Can you remember that until the reporter arrives?” she repeated ferociously.

Juan nodded and looked back to his arm.

María turned to Marta. “Put these three back into the limousine then you and Diego follow us. We must move fast, we have a long way.”

Marta nodded. “Back to Iquitos?”

“Yes.” María said then turned to the white van. She climbed into the front and watched Marta and Diego herd the three hostages back into the limousine. She turned to the driver. “Go.”

In the back, the old woman was kneeling between Carlota’s legs. Carlota cried out in agony.

“I am here,” Anita whispered repeatedly as the van lurched and turned, heading for the high Andes. Carlota clutched her hand tightly.

The limousine followed closely.

Outside Chosica, Carlota released both a final scream and her son to the world.

The old woman smiled broadly to the others, triumphantly lifting the child by his heels from between Carlota’s thighs.

“He is born.”

***0194

ICY ANDEAN PEAKS lay twenty thousand feet beneath the Challenger 3599. Lima lay on the distant horizon, beside the Pacific.

“I can’t raise Socrates and I can’t reach John.” Michelle said, turning to Antonio, her eyes searching his face.

“Something is very wrong,” he answered and looked back to Ignatious, who was pale white. “Father Ignatious, are you all right?”

Ignatious winced and smiled weakly.

Antonio turned to Michelle. “We need to get him a place to rest,” he said quietly.

A half hour later, the Challenger 3500 landed and taxied toward the private hangars. Michelle spotted Janice McClain’s old Mercedes between two of the hangars. She steered the plane toward it.

McClain stood beside her car as the plane rolled to a stop. Anxiety marbled her face.

Michelle disembarked quickly while Antonio helped Ignatious out.

“What’s wrong?” Michelle asked, hurrying up to McClain. Antonio and Ignatious came behind.

“The Sendero captured Carlota. Angelica and Father Manuel are dead.”

“No!” Michelle cried.

Ignatious crossed himself.

Antonio stared at McClain. “How do you know?”

“El Sol first reported it. The country is in an uproar. No one knows what happened or where they’ve taken Carlota,” McClain answered. She looked to Michelle. “There’s more,” she said slowly.

Michelle braced, “What?”

“We are unable to reach Mr. Mullen,” McClain explained.

“I know.”

“The lines are dead.”

“I know.”

“El Sol is reporting that the Sendero captured General De Silva, a Vatican cardinal, and a rich American. The Sendero say all three will confess publicly to conspiring to kill the new Madonna and blame the Sendero,” McClain said.

Michelle and Antonio turned slowly to one another, “María.”

“She’ll return to the jungle around Iquitos, to home ground to make her stand,” Antonio said, then looked to Ignatious. “Will you stay here with Janice McClain?”

The old priest returned the stare, “Is that what you want?”

“Please,” Antonio turned to McClain. “May he stay with you?” he asked softly with a low, deep voice.

“Of course, Father Antonio.” McClain said.

“Will you call Ray and tell him we’re headed back to Iquitos?” Michelle asked.

McClain nodded.

“Tell him what’s happened,” Michelle said, her voice trembling.

“He knows. I spoke with him,” McClain said, putting her hand onto Michelle’s shoulder. “Are you all right?”

“No. They were my friends,” Michelle took a deep breath. “Thanks for all your help, Janice,” she said, then turned to Antonio. “Let’s go.” McClain and Ignatious watched as Michelle and Antonio climbed back into the plane. Within moments, the engines fired and the plane began to roll.

Tears streamed down Michelle’s cheeks as she positioned the Challenger 3500 at the end of the runway. The twin engines stood ready to hurl them over the Andes. Antonio remained silent. Michelle received clearance and shoved the throttle forward.

***0195

CARLOTA CRIED ALOUD then slipped back into unconsciousness. María turned around in her seat, studying Carlota, “What’s wrong with her?”

Anita held the child protectively to her breast. “She’s bleeding, internally,” she said, looking at Carlota in her lap.

“Will she live?” María asked coldly.

The old woman with missing teeth shook her head.

“She’ll live,” Anita insisted, staring at the child within her arms. “I am here,” Anita said softly to Carlota.

“Keep her alive,” María ordered. “We have a long journey.”

“I intend to,” Anita whispered to herself. The old woman studied her with the eyes of a raven.

María looked at the mirror out her window. The limousine followed on their bumper.

***0196

RAY STAUFFEN WATCHED the black jet touching down, under the Amazonian sun, its gold reflective windows shimmering. Stauffen stood beside his muddy Jeep as the plane rolled into the hangar and Michelle cut the engines.

Antonio was first out. Michelle followed.

“I’m afraid I have bad news,” Stauffen said to her.

“What?”

“I’ve been on the phone with corporate security.” Stauffen hesitated,“There was an explosion deep within Mr. Mullen’s Wyoming complex. They say no one could have survived.”

“I suspected as much,” Michelle said, fighting back tears. She turned to Antonio, “You realize Father Bernadine is dead if John is.”

Antonio nodded sadly. “I know.”

“Socrates is behind this,” Michelle hissed then turned to Stauffen, “Did Janice McClain call you?”

“About the kidnapping?” he asked, nodding like he knew.

“We think María has them and is heading back to Iquitos,” Michelle said.

“Makes sense,” Stauffen said.

“Where would she take them?”

“Hector and Felipe are already talking with the tribes. If the Sendero has another hiding place, they’ll find out.”

“When they do, we’re going after Carlota,” Michelle announced.

“I know,” Stauffen said.

“When will the boys be back?” she asked.

“Tomorrow morning. In the meantime, you’re staying at my place,”Stauffen’s eyes filled with sympathy.

“Thanks Ray, but I need to be alone,” Michelle said quietly. “I’ll get a hotel room.”

“No, you won’t,” Ray insisted. “I won’t be there tonight so you two can be alone. You need someone with you, Michelle.”

“Where will you be?” Antonio asked.

“I’ll make preparations to extract Carlota, if Hector and Felipe can determine where the Sendero will take her,” Stauffen answered. He walked to the Jeep and opened a door for Michelle, “Shall we?”

No one spoke on the drive to Stauffen’s home. Stauffen parked his Jeep in the garage and ushered them into his home. “Father Antonio, you take my room and Michelle, the guest bedroom is yours.”

Michelle said nothing.

“Thank you, Ray,” Antonio said.

“Lock the door behind me.”

Antonio nodded.

“I’ll be back in the morning. If Hector and Felipe have located the Sendero hiding place, will you be ready to go?”

“We’ll be ready,” Antonio answered.

After Stauffen had left, Antonio put his arm around Michelle’s shoulder, “I’m putting you to bed.”

Michelle buried her face against his chest. She sobbed uncontrollably.

***0197

DARKNESS COVERED THE land by the time the military van and the limousine left behind the Andes’ eastern slopes and entered the upper Amazon rainforest.

“Stop up there,” María said, pointing ahead to a turn-off. “Something is wrong.”

The van and limousine pulled off the pavement and rolled to a stop. Several Sendero relieved themselves. María walked back to the limousine, through its glaring headlamps. Marta stuck her head out the window.

“Diego, put the hostages in the van and stay with them,” María ordered.

“Out!” Diego jabbed a gun barrel into De Silva’s fleshy side. Within seconds, all three hostages stood beside the car. Brigham and De Silva were visibly shaken. Rajunt glared coldly at María through the darkness as she stood speaking to Marta, leaning on the car, her head stuck partially through Marta’s window.

“We should have had to kill federales by now. This is too easy. Something is wrong,” María said, glancing back at the hostages.

“Diego, get them in the van!” she barked then turned back to Marta for several minutes, planning.

When she returned to the van, she jumped into the front seat. “Go,” she commanded.

Marta drove the limousine on to Iquitos.

***0198

ANTONIO COULD HEAR Michelle cry softly. Her anguish tore his soul. When her cries finally ebbed to silence, he let an hour pass before he looked in. The room was dark and she lay motionless on the bed. He began to close the door.

“Antonio,” she called out softly.

“Did I wake you?” his deep voice whispered.

“No.”

“Can you sleep?”

“No.”

He walked to the bed and sat beside her. The bed creaked beneath his massive frame. He gently stroked her silky blond hair. “Can I do anything for you?”

“Hold me,” she asked quietly.

Without a word, he took off his shoes and lay beside her, scooping her within his arms.

She nestled her head onto his chest.

Antonio held her for several minutes before realizing she had fallen asleep. He gently kissed the top of her head then lay back.

Sleep swiftly overcame him.

***0199

ANITA CRADLED THE child in one arm and balanced Carlota’s head in her lap with the other as the van bounced along the dark, uneven road.

“Angelica, Angelica,” Carlota moaned.

“I’m here, Carlota,” Anita said softly. “Your son is healthy and strong.”

At that, Carlota’s eyes opened wearily, “My son?”

“He’s fine.”

“My son,” she gasped, lapsing unconscious.

Anita stroked Carlota’s sweat-drenched hair and looked toward Rajunt, who returned her stare.

“He’s unnatural, a monstrosity,” Rajunt announced.

Anita glared. “If you even approach him, I’ll kill you instantly,” she warned slowly.

“I would not touch him,” he said, then looked away in disdain. Anita studied Rajunt, determined to seduce his obvious ambition.

“Which is why you will never be Pope.”

Rajunt froze. “What do you mean?” he asked, crocodile eyes swiveling toward her in the dark.

Anita continued her glare. “Billions will follow him,” she paused deliberately, “I’m glad it won’t be you.”

Rajunt sat motionless within the belly of the van, crocodile eyes gazing into a future.

Overhead, a full moon lit the night as the van continued deep into the rainforest.

Diego sat backed against the rear door, Uzi in hand. He stared at Carlota and the child. Living hatred filled his eyes.

***0200

MICHELLE STIRRED IN her sleep, waking Antonio. Her breathing was labored and her right hand drifted onto his upper thigh. He lay motionless. She jerked in her sleep so he pulled her to him, accidentally waking her.

Michelle raised her head slowly in the darkness and looked around, pushing hair from her face. “How long have I slept?”

“Several hours,” he said softly.

She laid her head back to his chest, returning her hand to his thigh. “You feel so good,” she murmured.

“So do you,” Antonio whispered, smelling her hair.

Michelle’s green eyes opened in the dark and she moved her hand gently up his thigh, inching higher, hesitantly.

Antonio gently stopped her hand.

“What’s wrong?”

“I have to tell you something,” he whispered.

“Tell me.”

“María raped and tortured me.”

His soft words crashed against her heart. “I know, Antonio. I saw your wound.”

He sighed heavily, “I’m glad you know. I love you.”

“I just lost John, Antonio. I’m not about to lose you. I’m certain now of one thing, I want to live my life with you. If you love me, we face everything together.”

Antonio began kissing her, with extraordinary passion. “I so love you, Michelle.”

She looked into his pale blue eyes, “All I have is you and all I have is yours.” She drew his lips to hers and their hands explored the other in detail.

Antonio lifted his head, slipping his hand beneath her blouse. She stared at him as he unbuttoned her blouse, spreading it. He stared at round, proud breasts painted by the silver moonlight, removed all her clothes and covered her with raindrop kisses. He raised his head, looked up into her eyes and lowered his face between her legs. Antonio had come home.

“Oooh … Antonio,” she moaned instantly, draping long legs over his shoulders. Powerful fingers grasped handfuls of silky, thick hair, guiding him. Eagerly following her lead, his tongue darted everywhere at once, carrying her to new heights time and time again. Both groaned in new ecstasy.

After a half-hour, beaded with sweat, she sat up, laughing, “You’re not fair, Antonio.”

He looked up, quizzically .

“Your clothes are still on. Will you strip, slowly, for me, near the window, in the moonlight?”

He nodded, rose from the bed and moved into the silver moonlight flooding through the window. He pulled out his shirt and began unbuttoning from its bottom. After he unbuttoned the top, he let it drop. The moonlight reflected on his sinewy back, as he bent to slide down his pants. He straightened slowly to face her.

“Please don’t move,” she whispered, sitting up at the edge of the bed. “I just want to look at you.” Her eyes roamed him. “Your body, Antonio,” she said, “is amazing.”

“So is yours, Michelle.”

She reached out for him. “Walk to me slowly, Antonio. I love watching how everything sways when you walk.”

When he towered above her, she lifted the pendulous orbs with two hands, gently weighing each in a palm. “They’re perfect, Antonio.” She kissed each delicately, “like you.” She lowered them gently to their gravity and then started pushing them with two fingers. Her eyes followed their swinging. When they came to rest, she pushed again.

She looked up suddenly, “Do you mind?” and added, “I could do this all day, Antonio.”

“They belong to you, Michelle. Enjoy them how you like.” He laughed. “I am.”

She pulled him to her, “Your turn.” Her warm tongue swirled along his silky underbelly.

She grabbed the back of his hips, pulled him in, swallowing him whole and held motionless, until Antonio’s hips began undulating. Then she matched his tempo perfectly. His right leg began shaking uncontrollably, he tried to withdraw. She refused, gripped the back of his hips much tighter, swallowing him whole, over and over until both legs shook uncontrollably. He collapsed his weight onto her shoulders, trying to withdraw. She refused.

“Michelle … Michelle, I can’t hold it,” he whispered hoarsely. “I can’t hold it. I can’t hold it.”

His chest and neck flushed brightly red, fed by a large network of prominent veins. A guttural groan rumbled out of his throat. “Michelle … Michelle … Michelle,” he cried, as she bore his full weight with powerful shoulders.

“I…,” his face and neck reddened, giant veins criss-crossed them both, “I can’t hold it, Michelle!”

“Mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm,” she moaned. When he had no more to give, she released him slowly, looking up, smiling and sporting a lazy strand of saliva still connecting her lips.

He regained his composure slowly, with deep breaths, still holding onto her shoulders, looking around and then down to her.

“Good for you?” She laughed, green eyes glistening against the silver moonlight, and acted as if she was realigning her jaw like a snake. She was proud of herself.

“Sorry about that,” he whispered.

“Don’t be.” Her green eyes glistened. “You taste like warm honey, Antonio. Sweet warm honey.”

“You do, too.” He paused then co*cked his head.

“How did you manage that?”

“Pure determination. I’ll do better with practice so let’s practice every morning.”

He smiled. “I’d like that, a lot.”

She yanked him atop her. Lean legs folded over muscled shoulders. When a hand repositioned his entry, with a smile, his eyes misted, staring at her. She pushed back his head with both hands, staring back. “What’s wrong, Antonio?”

“I … I never knew I could be so happy,” he whispered. “I never knew people could be this happy.”

She rolled him to his back, leaning onto wide shoulders and straddling narrow hips. “This is a first for me, too.” She looked him in the eye. “We’re just getting started, Antonio.”

***0201

DAWN WAS BREAKING when Hector and Felipe arrived at Stauffen’s office, bounding up the steps two at a time. Hector, the older of the two, exploded through the door first. Stauffen quickly zipped a large duffle bag filled with weapons.

“We found it!” Hector announced. Felipe nodded eagerly.

“Where?”

“In the Pacaya Samiria Reserve, about 25 kilometers southwest of Nauta.”

“You’re sure?” Stauffen quizzed.

Both nodded enthusiastically.

“Help me load this into the Jeep,” Stauffen pointed to several bags. He picked up the duffle bag with the weapons and followed the boys down the stairs.

“Draw me a map so I’ll know where to go,” Stauffen said to Hector, slamming down the Jeep’s rear door.

The boys looked confused at one another. “You don’t need a map. We’re going with you,” Felipe chided.

“No, you’re not,” Stauffen laid down the law.

“Then you don’t get a map,” Felipe said defiantly.

“This is too dangerous.”

Hector crossed his arms at the chest, “We go or you won’t find it.” Stauffen shook his head in irritation, reached over and opened the passenger door.

“Get in you little sh*ts,” Stauffen kept shaking his head.

Hector and Felipe climbed in.

***0202

“TURN LEFT AT the next intersection.

The van slowed then turned onto another dirt road, leading deeper into the Pacaya Samiria Reserve.

María looked back. Everyone but Diego, Anita, and Rajunt slept, heads rocked slowly with the bumps. Diego’s gun was trained on the hostages. Anita held Carlota’s head in her lap and the child in her arms. María was amazed, the child had yet to cry.

They drove for twenty minutes through gullies and ravines. The van creaked and groaned.

***0203

“YOU CANNOT COME,” Antonio explained to Hector and Felipe. They stood around Stauffen’s kitchen table, in the glare of the morning sun that flooded the room.

“Yes, we can,” both insisted at once.

“It is far too dangerous,” Michelle insisted.

“You won’t be able to find it without us,” Hector said, determined to go.

Antonio and Stauffen turned to Michelle. “We have no choice.” Michelle looked to the floor, shaking her head. She looked back up, staring at the boys.

Hector and Felipe looked uncomfortably at each other. Felipe stepped closer to Michelle, “This won’t be more dangerous than when we rescued Antonio and the others.”

“We almost got you killed, Felipe,” she said then turned to Antonio. “They can’t come. I will not jeopardize these boys again.”

“We’re men, not boys.” Hector declared.

Michelle looked them in the eye. “Do you want me to be more worried than I am already?”

Felipe adored Michelle. “No,” he confessed softly.

“Do you?” she asked Hector.

Hector shook his head.

“I’ll be terribly worried if you come.”

“But we can help,” Felipe insisted.

“I know you can. But I am asking you, please, to stay here. It will help me more knowing you are safe.”

Felipe and Hector looked to one another. Felipe felt a surge of shame that Michelle had been forced to plead.

“We won’t go with you,” Hector announced.

“Will you draw us a map so we can get there?” she asked softly, smiling gratefully.

They nodded.

“Will it be hard to find?” Stauffen asked.

Felipe shook his head, “Easy. Five kilometers west of where the rivers join.”

***0204

THE VAN LURCHED to a stop, reaching the end of the narrow dirt trail. María turned to everyone, “We walk from here.”

Anita looked up, “Carlota cannot walk.”

“Then carry her, she must feed the child,” María said and climbed from the van with the rest of the Sendero. Diego unlatched the rear door and backed out, motioning with his Uzi for Brigham and De Silva to follow. The hatred on Rajunt’s face had vanished, overwhelmed by ambition.

“You carry Carlota,” he said to Anita. “I’ll carry the child.”

“If you harm him, I’ll kill you,” she again warned.

“I protect Him,” he said, scooping the child protectively into his arms.

Anita struggled to carry Carlota.

***0205

“DO YOU KNOW how to use a KSG?” Stauffen asked Antonio, handing him the shotgun as the Jeep turned onto the one road leading to Nauta.

“No, but I can figure out how,” Antonio answered.

“I’ll show him,” Michelle said, her attention on the map sketched by Hector and Felipe. “How far is it?” she asked Stauffen

“We’ll get there by noon. You’ll stay with the Jeep while I figure out what we’re facing.”

“What do you mean?”

“María won’t have her usual security so her early guards will be high tree canopies until dawn. I’ll find where.”

“How?”

“Canopies without howling monkeys hide her guards.”

***0206

“GET ‘EM OUT!” the sheriff screamed.

“It’s no good, the whole thing is gone, vaporized, even granite was melted.” someone yelled back, emerging from the billowing dust.

“No one survived that, Sheriff.”

Four Carbon County Sheriff’s Jeeps, with giant gold stars painted on white doors, had parked haphazardly near the front entrance.

Men and women scrambled in and out of what remained of Mullen’s compound. Most were Mullen’s corporate security.

Dust choked the air and soiled their faces.

Three bright green volunteer fire department trucks idled in the gravel driveway, large diesel engines grumbling. Their exhaust hung in the air. Red and blue lights spun wildly, reflecting off the mountain, flooding through the thick dust cloud amid the pine trees.

“Damn crying shame!” The sheriff muttered. “Damn crying shame.” He thought highly of old man Mullen. They used to have morning coffee at the ice cream store. Saratoga accessed the world’s inaccessible because of John. He turned to a deputy. “Bodies, Isaac?”

“No, Sheriff. No one, nothing survived.”

“How long before you clear the rubble and get down there?”

The man shook his head, “If anyone was down there, they were vaporized.”

“Is there any chance… .”

“Not a chance.”

“We don’t even know if anyone was in there,” a deputy said.

“I checked the airport’s logs, Michelle Cumberland is out of the country but they think Mullen was here,” another deputy said.

“He was,” one of Mullen’s security officers said.

The sheriff turned to him, “I want a list of anyone you think may have been in there.”

“Mullen was alone,” the man lied.

The fire chief walked up to the sheriff. “There’s nothing for us to do here, no fire or chemicals. But there sure was one damned big explosion deep inside this place.”

“Might as well haul your equipment out. I’ll seal the scene and leave some deputies until the Crime Lab gets in from Cheyenne,” the sheriff said.

Carbon County Sheriff’s Jeeps soon followed the mammoth fire trucks, which were picking their paths down the steep incline.

Two deputies waited behind to secure the scene for the Crime Lab.

***0207

FAR FROM FIRETRUCKS and chaos, amid dense grove of Aspen and glacial debris, two tungsten carbide bunkers sit anchored to the mountain. One entombs emergency power. The other, Socrates.

***0208

JULIO SÁNCHEZ LISTENED quietly to his headset. Frantic conversations. Someone giving orders to another Special Forces team. He motioned for his men to stop. Another team should not be in his area.

His team froze, surrounded by heavy jungle. João looked at him curiously, “What is it?”

“María.” Sánchez asked.

João’s face seethed at the name.

“She took De Silva and the others hostage. Lima sent out a special team to take out everyone.”

“What?” João asked nervously.

Sánchez breathed deeply, “That team also has orders to terminate anyone it comes into contact with, including us.”

“Not gonna happen,” João replied flatly.

Sánchez gestured for silence, intent on listening to the continuing conversation in his headset. “The team is already in the Pacay rainforest reserve. I know where they are heading. We may not make it in time,” he turned to his men, circled his finger in the air, and pointed toward the Pacaya Samiria National Reserve.

***0209

STAUFFEN SLITHERED ON his lean belly, slowly pushing away large waxy leaves. He heard voices and drew still.

“Tie them to that tree,” María ordered.

Diego bound De Silva and Brigham then started for Rajunt, who held the child. Diego grabbed him by the shoulder to yank him onto his feet. Rajunt glared defiantly.

“No! I need him,” Anita looked up, cradling Carlota’s head in her lap.

“María,” Diego called out. María’s head snapped toward him. “Anita doesn’t want me to tie the viper,” he complained.

María glanced at Rajunt then studied Anita, “Give her what she wants. She protects the new Madonna.”

Diego released Rajunt.

“She will soon die,” Anita said grimly, staring at the child in Rajunt’s arms. “He will never know her.”

Rajunt said nothing but drew the child closer. Stauffen lay twenty meters away, counting Sendero.

***0210

UNABLE TO REBOOT John’s complex, piezoelectricity, harnessed from the world’s plate tectonics and ocean depths, plunges into the other tomb.

Brilliant blue light explodes the darkness, breaking the seal. Socrates astrides his planet, with a vengeance.

***0211

“IT’S EASY ANTONIO,” Michelle explained, handing Antonio the shotgun.

“What do I do?”

“Point and fire,” she said and grabbed a larger shotgun from her bag. She pumped a shell into position with a flick of her arm.

“How long do you think he’ll be gone?” Antonio asked about Stauffen.

“He should be back in an hour,” she said quietly, co*cking her head. “Did you just hear something?” she looked around, listening again.

Antonio stood still. He heard nothing but birds and insects and shook his head.

“I heard something,” Michelle tightened her grip on the shotgun and unknowingly took the low battle stance of a distant ancestor, Iceland’s Queen Freydís Eiríksdóttir.

Four pairs of white eyes stared from invisible faces black.

Security sat high above Lima, looking out onto the Pacific when his staffer entered the room.

“Any word?”

“Nothing in the last eight hours, Sir.”

“Get me the team leader!” The Minister snarled.

Within seconds, a signal vibrated the team leader’s neck. He gestured for his men to hold their position and backed away from Michelle and Antonio. Free from being heard, he whispered, “Team One.”

“Mother,” the Minister announced himself. “Report.”

“Nothing on primary,” he whispered, “but we have eyes on the American woman and Brazilian priest. Is your order still to kill them and continue to primary target?”

“Yes! Do it now! Kill them both!”

As the Minister had inhaled to scream his order, his phone died. He stared at its corpse and screamed to the staffer. “Fix this now!”

The team leader’s conversation continued, uninterrupted.

“No! The woman and the priest must not be harmed. The new Madonna must be protected at all cost!” Socrates snarled, in the Minister’s voice. “Proceed thirty kilometers due west and wait.”

“Say again?” The team leader was used to the Minister’s screams but not his own confusion.

“Did you not hear Mother!? Proceed now or I’ll have you shot!” Socrates snarled again, providing coordinates. The team leader instantly signaled his men to withdraw from Antonio and Michelle. Sniper crosshairs slipped away from between their eyes.

Kilometers away, hurrying through the dense underbrush toward the Sendero hideout, Sánchez ground to a stop to monitor the short conversation through his headset. His men instantly stopped as one machine, motionless.

“What’s wrong?” João asked tensely.

“The Special Forces kill team was just ordered to new coordinates thirty kilometers west of them. That makes absolutely no sense.” Concern and indecision clouded Sánchez’ face. “What the hell is going on?”

“Your call, Captain.” João whispered.

“We’re not following the Special Forces team, they’re on a fool’s errand. I know where María has to be holding them,” Sánchez announced.

***0212

STAUFFEN COUNTED TEN Sendero. He had watched where María positioned her security. She stood talking quietly with Diego. Anita and a cleric were comforting a woman and her child. De Silva and Brigham were tied to a tree.

With his inventory complete, Stauffen withdrew through the underbrush and headed back for Michelle and Antonio.

***0213

CARLOTA CRIED OUT, clutching her stomach.

“I’m here,” Anita said, lightly stroking her hair.

Carlota’s eyes opened slowly, “Angelica?” then focused. “Anita,” she said, realizing.

“You’re going to be fine,” Anita assured her.

Carlota smiled meekly, “I am dying.”

“No you’re not!” Anita insisted.

In pain, Carlota gripped Anita’s hand and looked into her eyes. “It is time.”

“Your son needs you,” Anita argued softly.

“He needs you now, Anita.”

“My son …” Carlota stretched out her arms toward Rajunt, who continued to hold the child.

“Give her the child,” Anita warned softly through clenched teeth. Rajunt leaned forward slowly, reluctantly placing the child in her arms. Anita stroked Carlota’s hair gently.

Carlota gazed down to her son in awe. “I love you more than life,” she whispered into his tiny pink ear and smiled bravely to him. Her stomach cramped like a vice as she bent to kiss his cheek, “I shall be with you along your journey, my son. Trust in that.”

She kissed him good-bye, tears streaming down her cheeks. She struggled to hand her son to Rajunt, who snatched him back.

Anita refused to weep as Carlota gripped her hand tighter and tighter.

Rajunt rocked the child gently, his eyes looking about.

With her head in Anita’s lap, Carlota released her last breath. Her grip on Anita’s hand vanished.

***0214

STAUFFEN GREETED A 12 gauge in his face when he broke through the trail. Michelle raised it instantly when she recognized him. “Did you locate them?” she quickly asked.

“Got ‘em,” Stauffen said softly.

“Could you see Carlota?” Antonio asked.

“Did she have the baby with her?” Michelle added.

“I’ve never seen Carlota, but a woman and a cleric were kneeling before a young woman lying in the dirt,” Stauffen answered. “The cleric…”

“Rajunt,” Antonio interrupted.

“Rajunt,” Stauffen paused, “was holding the child while Anita comforted the woman.”

“That’s Carlota,” Michelle answered.

“I wasn’t close enough to really tell, but she seemed pretty bad off. She was very pale and wasn’t moving,” Stauffen said.

“We need to extract her now,” Michelle insisted.

“I agree,” Antonio said.

“We’ll have better odds if we wait until night, but I think you’re right.

She’s in a world of hurt.” Stauffen agreed. “She may not last the night.”

***0215

“WHAT?!!!” MARÍA SCREAMED, glaring at Carlota’s ashen body. Anita rose slowly with red eyes. She started to speak, “I . . . .”

“Who feeds the child?!” María roared and backhanded Anita so hard she stumbled backward. María’s eyes raged.

Rajunt, still knelt beside Carlota, drew the child closer to his breast.

Anita straightened, terrified María would kill them all, “I will find him milk.”

María backhanded Anita again, snapping back her head. “Yes, you will and right now!” María said icily.

“What do you want me to do?” Anita asked, holding her bleeding lip with the back of her hand.

María started pushing Anita from the clearing, toward the jungle’s edge. “Bring me milk!” She was nose-to-nose with Anita. As María advanced, Anita retreated.

“Run to the road. Find a peasant, find anyone. But bring me milk for the child!” María snarled, her face filled with fury. She shoved Anita backwards into the bushes. “Go!”

Anita grabbed a branch to regain her balance.

“Now!” María ordered and returned to the others.

Anita turned and ran for the road, crashing through the underbrush. Anita disappeared into the undergrowth.

***0216

MINUTES LATER, SÁNCHEZ’S team froze, blending with the shadows of the undergrowth, at the sound of Anita’s hurried approach.

João’s rifle-sight lined to Anita’s head, the silencer following her.

Sánchez recognized Anita, the one Sendero who refused María’s invitation to torture him and his men.

“Let her live,” Sánchez whispered softly. Anita disappeared into the undergrowth.

***0217

“LET’S GO IN,” Antonio announced, worried about Carlota, tightly gripping the 10 gauge.

“Let’s go,” Michelle said to Stauffen as he pulled an assault rifle from the duffle bag.

“You’re sure you want to do this in daylight?” Stauffen asked, cautiously.

Both shook their heads.

“Let’s nail ‘em then. Follow me. Keep low.” Stauffen turned, heading back along the trail he had just blazed from the Sendero hideaway. His eyes and ears probed the area around them like headlights in the fog.

A half hour later, Stauffen gestured to Michelle and Antonio to get down. They slithered through the underbrush until they lay beside him, weapons ready.

“How are we going to do this?” Michelle whispered.

“Too many for an open fire fight,” Stauffen answered slowly. “There’s María. If we capture her, we can back off the others.”

“How do we get to her?” Antonio asked in a hushed tone.

“She usually walks the perimeter every hour, checking on the guards up in the trees. She’ll do the same here. We wait and when she comes by, I’ll pull her in,” Stauffen said.

The three lay quietly, waiting patiently.

Within the hour, María sauntered near Stauffen, her eyes scanning the high trees to ensure all was well with her guards. Stauffen tensed, crouched near her feet and hidden by giant leaves. When María turned to the camp, he sprang.

Stauffen’s strong hand slipped tightly around her mouth. The other hand held a machete to her throat. “One word and I remove your head, got that?” Stauffen chewed the words quietly into her ear.

María’s eyes froze, she nodded. Stauffen backed her into the jungle. His eyes roamed the camp as he backed her into the brush, the Sendero were still unaware.

María sank her teeth into Stauffen’s fingers. Blood oozed from between her teeth but he refused to slacken his grip. He pressed the machete against her throat hard enough that she understood and withdrew her teeth from his flesh.

Michelle and Antonio moved quickly into place, near Rajunt and the child. Stauffen signaled them. Together, they advanced into the clearing, weapons leveled at the Sendero.

Before the Sendero could react, Stauffen emerged from the other side of the clearing, shielding himself with María. “Drop your weapons or she dies!” he yelled.

The Sendero glanced nervously at one another, some keeping weapons trained on Michelle and Antonio while some watched Stauffen.

“Now!” Stauffen screamed.

They refused.

“You are about to die,” Stauffen snarled to María.

“Drop them!” she shouted.

Slowly, they lowered their weapons to the ground.

Stauffen turned back and shouted up to the trees, “Get down here or she dies.”

The guards hurried down from the trees.

When all the Sendero were clustered, Stauffen shoved María to them.

Michelle leveled her 12 gauge to María’s nose on her snarling face. “Put your face in the dirt,” Michelle ordered. María glared.

“Or die.” Michelle returned her glare.

Her face seething, María lowered to the dirt. Michelle forced herself not to pull the trigger. She turned to the other Sendero, commanding in three languages, “Everyone ─ faces down in the dirt!”

One by one, they complied, their eyes glued to her 12 gauge shotgun staring at them. When they were down, Antonio looked at Stauffen confidently. “Let’s tie them and get out of here.”

Marta smiled from the dense underbrush, watching quietly. She signaled the other Sendero she had brought from Iquitos.

Marta’s Sendero quietly emerged, weapons leveled, from the jungle on all sides.

Stauffen, Michelle, and Antonio were focused on their prisoners. They did not see Marta emerge from the jungle. When they turned, it was too late.

“Drop your weapons or the child dies,” Marta ordered, brandishing her weapon toward Rajunt and the child. They froze.

“I said, drop your weapons.”

Michelle looked at Antonio. Stauffen closed his eyes briefly. They lowered their weapons.

María scrambled to her feet, her eyes fixed on Antonio. A reptilian smile surfaced as she rose before him, “I’m so glad you returned, lover.” Michelle glanced up to Antonio, who was holding María’s deadly stare.

“Give us the child and let us go,” Antonio commanded.

María threw back her head, laughing. “Let you go? You were lucky last time. I’m about to finish what I started. But this time I will hand my gift to ‘Michelle, Michelle, Michelle’,” she paused, “personally.”

María yanked Michelle away from Antonio, holding her .45 to Michelle’s temple. Michelle, who towered above María, glared down at her, from the side of her eye.

“Onto the ground again, priest!” María screamed and turned to the others. “Stake him again!” she snarled, jamming the barrel hard into the side of Michelle’s head. Michelle winced, eyeballing María from the corner of an eye.

“Don’t hurt Michelle, María!” Antonio screamed and dropped to the ground face up, splaying his arms and legs as wide as he could for her.

Sánchez ran toward the camp as fast as he could but the underbrush was becoming denser. He could hear voices ahead. His lungs burned as he ran. João streaked ahead of him like a gazelle, taking enormous strides.

An especially grizzly looking Sendero quickly knelt beside Antonio to lash him to the ground.

“Don’t touch him!” Michelle screamed at the Sendero, slamming the tip of a muddy boot into his face, as hard as she could.

The Sendero fell back then scrambled to his feet, blood gushing from his smashed nose. He pulled a revolver from his belt and aimed between Michelle’s green eyes. She glared back.

María smiled and stepped between Michelle and the man. “Not yet,” she ordered.

She stared at Michelle curiously for several long seconds. “You must be Michelle. Don’t touch him? I raped him, repeatedly.” She brayed. “He screams beautifully. Did you train him to do that?” María smiled at Michelle.

María’s voice dropped an octave and, pausing between each word, her head bobbing lightly, “I’m going to finish what I started. You can watch.” She pushed her .45 harder harder against Michelle’s temple. “I’ll enjoy your screams more than his.”

“Wanna bet?” Michelle slammed her elbow into María’s face and drove a fist up under María’s chin.

María stumbled back as her head snapped back and she fought to keep her balance. Michelle lunged through at her like a charging lioness, landing atop María, slamming her onto the ground, determined to kill her.

The Sendero drew down their weapons at Michelle.

Sánchez and his men could hear distant screams.

“No!” Marta screamed at the Sendero. “You’ll hit María, wait ‘til she’s clear! María will take her!”

But María was no match for Michelle.

María’s furtive blows against Michelle’s face had no effect. María kicked, clawed, and bit. But the blond Viking was unfazed. Michelle was methodically tearing María apart with her bare hands.

Blood streamed from María’s nose.

Michelle assumed she would die at any instant and instinctively knew she had a score to settle. She wrapped herself around María like a whirlwind of fury.

María snarled and locked Michelle in a powerful grip, pivoting, crushing their sweaty breasts together, arms and legs flailing. They rolled through the dirt.

María sank her teeth deep into Michelle’s neck. Michelle roared and drove her fist into María’s face four times. She spun and flipped María, screaming obscenities, onto her stomach. Michelle grabbed María’s head from behind, twisting it to snap María‘s neck.

Marta finally had a clear shot. She leveled her gun to Michelle’s head.

Bursting into the clearing, João snapped his rifle to his hip and fired, mid-stride. Marta’s weapon splintered into a thousand pieces. João spun his weapon toward the others.

The Sendero froze.

Sánchez and the others burst into the clearing, weapons ready.

After he caught his breath, Sánchez laughed loudly at Michelle. Her clothes were almost gone, shredded beyond recognition. Blond hair pointed in all directions.

“You did well,” he winked. “If you would like more time with her,” he aimed his weapon at María, “you can have it.”

Michelle looked at María, who lay dead still. Michelle shook her head.

“Sánchez! Thank God, you made it!” De Silva shouted from the tree, his hands nearly blue from being tied so tightly. Sánchez signaled his men to free De Silva and Brigham.

Rajunt stood in the background, his Child secure in his arms.

Once freed, De Silva rushed to Sánchez, embracing him, “You saved my life!”

“We’re not out of this yet, General,” Sánchez answered.

De Silva looked strangely at him.

“The Minister of Security has at least one assassination team looking for María and her hostages. I suspect there are more.”

De Silva co*cked his head to the side, perplexed.

“They have orders to kill everyone ─ including you.”

De Silva’s brows arched, “Me?!”

Sánchez nodded slowly. “Especially you.”

“I see,” De Silva said quietly then regained his composure. “Tie and gag the Sendero.” Sánchez’ men instantly complied.

“Tie the old woman to María,” De Silva grunted, looking around for her. The old woman was nowhere to be found.

The five soldiers moved toward the jungle’s edge, when an inhuman scream out of the jungle on their left, they froze.

De Silva looked toward the scream, nervous eyes searching for the old woman in the white dress. “She’s vanished,” he declared, whispering. “A forest demon.”

When they looked back to their right, María was nowhere to be found.

“María escaped.” Michelle closed her eyes, for several seconds of silence.

De Silva looked at the child then turned to Sánchez, “What do we do?”

“I need your help, General,” Sánchez said.

“What do you want?” De Silva shrugged with an exaggerated gesture.

“Release the Brazilian priest and the American woman.”

“Release them?” De Silva’s eyes narrowed to purpose.

“There’s more.” Sánchez said with determination.

De Silva’s eyes narrowed, “What?”

“Give them the Child,” Sánchez said softly. “They must take the Child from Peru. The Child will perish here.”

“No!” Rajunt declared, stepping forward, holding the child. “The Child is mine!” Rajunt glared at De Silva with an intensity that made the portrait, hanging in his office, shiver.

Brigham and Michelle stared at one another.

“But you said she was a charlatan,” De Silva said quietly, pointing at Carlota’s body. “If she was, this cannot be infant Jesus.”

“I was wrong,” Rajunt said, lifting the child for all to see. “He is the Christ child.” Rajunt’s eyes tried to sweep through De Silva’s soul. “He belongs,” Rajunt hissed at De Silva, “to the Holy Church.”

De Silva felt his eternal soul crowded by danger. He turned to Michelle and Antonio, studying them. “He has a world of enemies. Will you protect him?” he asked with deadly earnestness.

Michelle understood. “With my life.”

“And you?” De Silva looked to Antonio.

“With my life.”

De Silva considered eternal options and quickly asked Sánchez, “What else?”

Sánchez nodded gratitude and stood silently.

“NO!” Brigham screamed.

The back of De Silva’s chubby hand crashed across Brigham’s face. “One more word and you die now,” De Silva snarled at Brigham.

João shoved his gun to the back of Brigham’s head.

“No!” Rajunt raised his voice, “I will damn your soul for eternity, General, if you dare take the Child from me.”

De Silva turned slowly to Sánchez, “Take the child from his arms.”

He turned to João, whose gun barrel still lodged against the back of Brigham’s skull, “If Cardinal Rajunt moves, shoot them both.” Brigham glared at Rajunt.

João nodded as Sánchez carefully retrieved the child from Rajunt. Sánchez turned slowly to Michelle. Their eyes met.

Michelle accepted the child with long, powerful arms.

***0218

THE PROCESSION OF military vehicles wound through Iquitor’ airport, cutting across the runway, and headed for Stauffen’s hangar. Two dozen soldiers piled out and quickly opened the huge hangar doors. The black Challenger 3500 greeted them majestically from the shadows.

Under Michelle’s direction, the soldiers carefully rolled out the plane. Golden reflective windows blazed in the Amazonian sun as the soldiers prepared the plane.

Antonio held the child as Michelle walked around the plane, checking it. Sánchez stood beside Antonio.

When Michelle finished inspecting her plane, she rejoined Antonio then looked to Sánchez. “We cannot yet leave,” she said.

“What’s wrong?” Antonio and Sánchez both asked at once.

“We cannot leave without saying good-bye to Felipe and Hector.” Antonio nodded that she was right.

“Where are they?” Sánchez asked quickly.

“They are at my place,” Stauffen interrupted.

Sánchez gestured to one of his soldiers in a truck to drive up beside him. He turned to Stauffen, “He will take you to get the boys. We will wait.”

Stauffen climbed in and the truck headed back into Iquitos.

“Do you have nourishment for him?” Sánchez asked as they waited, his eyes never leaving the child.

“Yes,” Michelle nodded. “He’ll be well cared for.”

Antonio turned to Sánchez, “Thank you for everything.”

“You saved my life and my men ─ I owe you more than ever I can repay,” Sánchez answered.

Within fifteen minutes, the truck returned. Hector and Felipe had their faces pressed to the windows. When the squeak of brakes announced the end of their ride, the boys bolted down from the truck. Stauffen and Rochelle stepped down and stood quietly beside the truck.

Sister Agnus followed behind, her hand bandaged.

“You made it!” Hector laughed at Antonio.

“I knew you would make it, Michelle!” Felipe proclaimed to Michelle.

Agnus looked at the child in Antonio’s arms. “Jesus?” she asked, breathlessly.

Antonio nodded, smiling.

Agnus knelt before the child, crossing herself, “Thank you Lord.” Then she looked to the sky. “He is come by Your Hand.”

De Silva stood quietly until Agnus finally rose to her feet.

Michelle looked down to Felipe and Hector, “Would you like to return with us to the United States?”

They both looked to Agnus, then slowly looked back to Michelle. “We want to stay with Sister Agnus.”

Michelle smiled to Agnus then to the boys, “So would I if I were you.”

She turned to Sánchez, “It is time we leave.”

De Silva walked hesitantly to Antonio and Michelle. His face was pained. “Forgive my ignorance.”

Antonio smiled forgiveness. Michelle did not.

“You will need allies to remain in power. I will help you,” she said then turned to her plane.

Rajunt lurched into prominence, indifferent to João’s gun or his own fate. He raised his voice, “Father Antonio!”

Antonio turned back slowly.

“Keep your vigil. The Ancient One follows,” he warned. “Furtim Vigilans.”

“Non est ad astra mollis e terris via.” Antonio turned to join Michelle.

***0219

THE BLACK CHALLENGER 3500 poised at the far end of the runway. Michelle spoke with the tower. Antonio sat beside her, the child snug in his arms, sleeping.

Sánchez and De Silva stood amid the phalanx of military vehicles. All eyes were on the distant jet as it began to roll. No one made a sound. Seconds later, the plane blurred, streaking toward the end of the runway. A low roar rumbled through the jungle.

Michelle eased back the yoke and the plane lifted effortlessly from the steaming jungle.

Sánchez shielded his eyes from the equatorial sun, as they followed the black jet into the clouds.

***0220

THE PALE BLUE light vanquished the darkness.

“I await.”

“I am awake.”

***0221

ANTONIO STARED DOWN to a night world rolling 13,000 meters below. “Where are we?

Michelle pointed ahead to a glow on the distant right. “That’s Houston.”

“Where are we heading, Michelle?”

“Laramie, Antonio.”

Antonio nodded and looked to the infant in his arms.

Pale blue eyes gazed at him.

“He’s awake.”

THE END