Behold I approach for Divine Communion. O Creator, burn me not as I partake, for Thou art Fire which burns the unworthy. Wherefore purify me from every stain.
John Savas, dripping from the pouring rain, walked past the Royal Doors into the nave of the church. He looked neither left nor right; instead he focused intently straight ahead toward the altar and the figure of Father Timothy bent in prayer.
Of Thy Mystical Supper, O Son of God, accept me today as a communicant; for I will not speak of thy Mystery to Thine enemies; I will not give Thee a kiss as did Judas; but like the Thief do I confess Thee. Remember me, O Lord, in Thy Kingdom.
Several heads turned in Savas's direction as he moved toward the altar. Eyes glanced up from prayer books like the wake of a boat, a flowing distraction from the climax of the liturgical service.
Tremble, O man, when you see the divine Blood, For it is a fire that burns the unworthy. The Body of God both deifies and nourishes; It deifies the spirit and nourishes the mind.
Savas passed three-quarters of the pews, walking underneath the high dome painted with the icon of Christ Pantocrator, Christ Almighty. The low prayers of the priest were increasingly disturbed by a surge of murmurs from the faithful, a slowly cresting wave of chaos drowned by the thunder rumbling outside.
Into the splendor of Thy Saints how shall I who am unworthy enter? For if I dare to enter the bridal chamber, my vesture betrays me; for it is not a wedding garment, and as an imposter I shall be cast out by the Angels. Cleanse my soul from pollution and save me, O Lord, in Thy love for men.
By the time shouts rose to warn the priest, John Savas had scaled the four steps to stand within the Sanctuary itself. Chanters and front-row worshippers who had moved forward to take action froze and slowly backed away. A gun was raised, aimed at the back of Father Timothy. The priest paused, perhaps sensing something or perhaps confused by the sudden swell and fall of noise in his church. Hands still raised in supplication, he turned slowly, his eyes at first unfocused over the many faces in the pews. Then they sharply pinpointed on the barrel of the gun not five feet in front of him.
The inside of the church was utterly still, silent, rocked softly by the receding thunder outside, lit brightly in slaps of lightning over the soft candle flames. Water dripped from the policeman's cap and began to form small pools on the white marble in front of him. Savas spoke.
“He can't have my son.”
The priest stared down into the dark tunnel of the weapon, water beading around the slick metal. His eyes began to glow a deep red, and a demonic grin spread across his face. Savas screamed, pulling the trigger repeatedly as the robed figure laughed manically before him.
Savas awoke suddenly, shaken from sleep by a crack of lightning and a deep roll of thunder.
Where am I?
A loud knock accompanied the noises from outside. His watch displayed 10 p.m. He was in his office. He had fallen asleep at his desk, the fatigue of nearly constant late evenings catching up with him. The pounding on the door continued.
He rubbed his temples as he stood up from his desk, walked over to his office door and opened it. An extremely agitated Larry Kanter burst into the room and sat down in the chair beside the desk. He was dressed in his travel clothes — gray suit and briefcase, computer bag in hand. His thinning hair was in disarray, and he sighed loudly, slightly out of breath.
“Sit down, John, please.”
Savas cautiously complied, wondering what emergency Kanter would drop on him.
“I'm off to DC a little earlier than I expected,” he said. “You want to know why, John?”
Savas merely waited for him to continue.
“Because I was foolish enough to take you seriously. Crazy enough to call up my good friends at Langley and ever so subtly raise the issue of a connection between these seemingly disparate assassinations.”
Savas felt his pulse quicken. “Yes? And they said?”
Kanter laughed. “First, they said they'd get back to me. Then my friend called back and told me to get a good lawyer. The next thing I knew, there was the head of the CTD oversight committee telling me to get my ass up to DC on a special flight chartered out of LaGuardia. Before the JTTF meeting this weekend, I'm going to get a special one-on-one with the entire Counterterrorism Task Division overlords. All because I speculated on your cracked idea.”
“Did you mention anything about internal hit squads?”
“Hell, no, John! I'm not suicidal. But I don't really need to raise the issue, anymore, do I?” Kanter paused ominously.
“What do you mean?”
“Isn't it obvious? A few minutes on the phone linking these attacks gets me hauled up for questioning. What on earth could have them that jumpy?”
“You can't believe this is a possibility, Larry,” said Savas, his smile fading quickly as Kanter remained serious. “But it's crazy!”
“I don't know what to think. But if there were assassination teams behind these killings, this is exactly the kind of response I would expect. That, and my upcoming reassignment to the Alaska division office.”
“Calm down, Larry. We all know this doesn't make sense. There has to be another explanation.”
“There sure as hell better be another explanation, John, or we've just opened a can of Texas-sized worms.”
8
The door closed behind Kanter, leaving him alone in the room with six other people. He was already fatigued from his last-minute sprint to the airport, flight, and subsequent rush to the late meeting. They couldn't wait until morning? Who has meetings at midnight?
Now he had to face this table of officials overseeing the antiterrorism activities of the United States. The setup was inquisition-style with a single, lonely seat for him facing an array of questioners around the semicircular polished wooden slab.
Kanter felt his knees buckle as he scanned the faces around the table. Even the phone conversations and summons had not prepared him for this. One next to the other, he saw high-ranking representatives from critical US agencies, many exclusively counterterrorism. He ticked off the offices associated with the faces: the CIA Counterterrorist Center, the Office of National Security, Homeland Security, and his own superiors at the National Joint Terrorism Task Force. He was surprised to see a representative of the National Security Agency — he couldn't imagine why they'd need a communications angle on this story. If he was perplexed to see an NSA representative, he was stunned at the final face present — the deputy secretary of state. That she was here raised the stakes to feverish levels.
“Please sit down, Mr. Kanter,” began his FBI superior.
Kanter noticed that he had been standing in front of the chair, nearly at attention. He smiled and sat down. He was too damn old to be acting like a freshman.
The FBI representative continued. “We apologize for calling you out here on such short notice, but we understand that you would be attending the Task Force meeting this weekend anyway.”
“That's correct.”
“As you are probably aware, Mr. Kanter, you are here to answer some of our questions about your comments to CIA counterterrorism personnel and, if possible, to aid us in solving some frankly disturbing mysteries.”
Kanter suppressed an urge to sigh. “I'll help in any way I can.”