The Covenant Of The Flame

Tess slowly, reluctantly, nodded again, inwardly flinching at the memory of the nightmare.

'The pattern is obvious. Tess, to be blunt, who's so desperate to kill you and in the process to kill the people you've recently contacted? Why ? It almost makes me nervous to be in touch with you myself.' Gerrard's latter remark was obviously somewhat exaggerated, given the presence of the Secret Service. No matter. The vice president continued to look intense.

'Your investigators are very thorough, Alan.'

'That's why they work for me. They're the best.'

'Then maybe they've figured out why I'm in danger.'

'No. Otherwise I wouldn't be asking you. Is it the heretics? Do they want to kill you?'

Tess felt her cheeks turn pale. 'The heretics…?'

She hadn't expected…

She couldn't believe…

Straining to keep her breathing steady, she managed only to stare.

'Your friend who was burned in Manhattan? My investigators conducted an in-depth background check. He was a heretic,' Gerrard said. 'We've known about them for some time. At first, there were merely rumors. International gossip. But then a pattern began to be evident. Unusual diplomatic decisions. Puzzling changes in the policy of foreign nations, especially in Europe. Assassinations. Unexpected deaths of foreign diplomats, perhaps even the death of the Spanish president. Something – we don't know what – is happening. Blackmail. Extortion. Votes are controlled. Politicians are subjected to irresistible pressure. Major industries are afraid because several top executives have been murdered. It's not the Soviets. That system's collapsing. It's something else. A new threat looms now that the cold war seems to be over. All because of a group of fanatics who somehow survived from the Middle Ages and decided to preserve their religious theories by disguising themselves and burrowing into the mainstream of international corporations and major governments. We have trouble identifying the heretics – they've had centuries of practise in hiding – but we recognize their trail, and we know that they're determined to destroy both democracy and capitalism. They might be a greater threat than the Soviets – whom I still think are raising a smoke screen and trying to conceal their true aggressive intentions – ever were.'

'The Evil Empire,' Tess said. The Reagan administration was obsessed with that idea. Don't tell me this administration also believes that the Soviets-'

To hell with the Soviets. For all I know, I'm wrong to think they're trying to deceive us. It could be that the heretics have taken charge over there and are responsible for the downfall of the Communist Party. What I'm talking about is-'

With a mighty thrust, then a slight change of tone from the engines, Air Force Two stopped rising, settled, and maintained a level altitude.

The seatbelt light was extinguished.

From a microphone, a voice said, 'All passengers are free to move throughout the aircraft. In case of turbulence – of which you'll have ample warning – return to your seats and refasten your belts.'

In an instant, the Secret Service agents, followed by the vice president's aides, exited hastily through the rear door to continue their duties.

Gerrard leaned sideways. 'Tess, what I'm asking is, do you believe that the heretics are the people who want to kill you? Because of your friendship with one of them? Because they're afraid you've learned too much about them?'

Tess fought to conceal her shock. She hadn't known what to expect when Gerrard brought Craig and her aboard Air Force Two. For certain, she'd never expected that Gerrard himself would raise the subject of the heretics. What the vice president had just told her about them – the extent of their conspiracy – was more than she already knew. Maybe she was wrong about him. Did it make sense for him to be so open, to reveal so much, if he was one of them?

Or was he using candor to gain her confidence, to mute her suspicions?

In a quandary, Tess decided that she couldn't pretend to be ignorant. She had to follow his lead. 'As near as I can figure, Alan, the answer is yes. But the truth is, although I stumbled across them, I hardly know anything about them.' She reached in her purse and showed him the photograph of the statue. 'This is the only evidence I have. I found the statue in my friend's bedroom, but later it was stolen. The reason I went to see Professor Harding was that I hoped he could tell me what it meant.'

'And did he?'

'His wife did. The man on the bull is a god named Mithras. The serpent, the dog, and the scorpion represent his evil counterpart. They're trying to stop the blood from reaching the ground, the wheat from growing, the bull from being fertile. That information – and the fact that the heretics survived a purge in the Middle Ages and then infiltrated various governments to stop the purge – is all I know.'

Gerrard squinted. 'Then it's who you are, not what you know, that they believe threatens them. They're afraid you'll use your influence with your father's friends, including me, to expose them. The terrible irony is that their killings have been needless, that their desperate efforts are wasted since we already know a great deal more than you do about them. Your mother and Brian Hamilton didn't have to die. What a waste. I'm so sorry, Tess.'

Tess's throat ached again from grief.

At the same time, she retained' sufficient presence of mind to wonder why – if the inner circle of the government knew about the heretics – Eric Chatham had claimed to be ignorant about them?

Surely the director of the FBI would have a major role in investigating them. Had Chatham been so suspicious of Father Baldwin's group that he'd decided to pretend he knew nothing about the heretics?

As she considered the possibilities, uncertainty made her dizzy. What appeared to be sincerity might be deception, and apparent deception might very well be sincerity.

Her consciousness felt clouded. Her sense of reality was threatened.

Gerrard distracted her by clasping her hand. 'I promise you this. I'll use all my power to make them pay for what they did to your mother.'

'Thank you, Alan. If only this nightmare would end.'

'That's another promise. I'll do my best to see that it does end.'

The cabin became still, except for the slight vibration caused by the engines.

Gerrard glanced beyond Tess, his attention devoted to Craig. 'Lieutenant, my investigators tell me that you're fond of opera.'

'True.' Craig frowned.

'No need to be puzzled. My staff is thorough, as I explained.'

'But what does opera have to do with…?'

'If you'll reach in the seat pocket before you…"

Craig searched and found a set of earphones.

'Put them on,' Gerrard said. 'Insert their extension into the console beside you. Turn the dial to channel five. You'll hear what is the greatest opera of all – Verdi's Otello.'

'Verdi's good, but I've always preferred Puccini.'

'I wasn't told that. I'm sorry - on this flight, all the operas we have are by Verdi, Mozart, and Wagner.'

'Verdi will do just fine.' Craig coughed. 'The thing is, while I listen…?'

Tess and I will take other seats. We haven't seen each other in too many years. We have memories to share, private matters to discuss.'

Craig straightened nervously.

'Executive privilege,' Gerrard said. 'Enjoy the opera. Tess?' He stood.

'It's late.' She stood as well. 'Madrid's a long way. You'll be exhausted if you don't get some sleep, Alan. And I'm already exhausted. No offense. I'll want to lean against Craig's shoulder soon and doze off.'