Gregg Loomis - The Coptic Secret

Then he continued. "As you know, nearly two millennia ago, the church fathers met at Nicaea to establish commonality of beliefs including the text of what would become the New Testament. The decisions were made and all texts and their copies not included were ordered destroyed as heretical. Until very recently, I had thought the only remaining copies were safely in the Vatican's most secret archives, preserved solely for study. Such is not the case; one has surfaced.

"I will not burden you with the content of this document but only the fact it presents a danger to Holy Mother Church. It and any who may become aware of its blasphemy must be destroyed. Regrettably, this has included some otherwise devout Christians such as one Greek Orthodox priest and, just hours ago, a patriarch of the same faith who somehow let Himself become ensnared in this hideous apostasy."

"Greek or not," someone in the back shouted, "they were fellow Christians!"

There were several more comments against a background of unhappy muttering.

The speaker held up his hands for quiet. "I tell you this, my brothers, only to emphasize the severity of the danger we face. My purpose today is to involve all of you in this most holy crusade to protect the very foundations of the church."

"We are not assassins," a voice protested.

"No," the speaker agreed, "but we all gave the oath of allegiance to the holy church, to oppose her enemies and to obey the orders of our superiors."

"We didn't give an oath to kill," another person said.

"Obedience to one's superiors includes anything that superior, with God's help, deems necessary for the good of the order."

No one could muster an argument against that logic.

Satisfied there would be no further disagreement, the speaker continued. "Here is what we must do…"

Park Place

2660 Peachtree Road Atlanta

Two Days Later

Lang had to do something about completing the restoration of the burned-out shell that had been his home. Letters from management imploring action had turned into pleas from the condominium association invoking sympathy for his fellow residents' property values. Now he was receiving angry demands citing association rules. Management had called his office almost daily as unwanted and unordered appliances arrived from Home Depot. Repeated calls from Lang's secretary, Sara, to the company had elicited promises to remove not only the bidet, dishwasher and huge stove but also two shower stalls, two sinks (one porcelain, the other stainless steel), the newest in minimum water usage toilet arid a giant gas barbeque "grill that would have been at home on any patio that included a football field. Instead, each arrival of the delivery truck heralded the appearance of more home furnishings that had already overflowed Lang's small unit and the building's basement storage area as well.

The company's explanation was always the same: a computer glitch, a gremlin in the system who had, so far, eluded whatever efforts Home Depot had exerted. Lang guessed that somewhere a contractor was sliding into bankruptcy as item after item failed to materialize at one job site after another while the supply company's posse chased fruitlessly through cyberspace. As is often the case, technology had replaced reality.

It had become clear the problem wasn't going to get solved by phone. Besides, Lang was eager to prepare the place for sale and look for more spacious quarters for his new family before the homeowners' association filed suit. He had an even greater incentive to find a new home: Now that Judge Carver had prohibited any forfeiture action by the government, the US Marshals Service had lost interest in surveillance. The farm was no longer secure.

He would have to at least begin making repairs to the condo to mollify his neighbors. He could hardly consult with a contractor without pointing out the work he wanted done. The problem, of course, was the condo was an obvious place to keep under observation by those who had tried to kill him.

Wearing jeans and a shirt, Gurt pulled the rented SUV under the porte cochere, surrendering the vehicle to an acne-faced young man in a white shirt and black clip-on bow tie who fidgeted impatiently while she released Manfred from the constraints of his kiddie seat. Hand in hand, mother and child entered the building.

Moments later, a man walking a very ugly dog turned in from the sidewalk. His stooped back and deliberate step gave a sense of age's infirmity, an impression difficult to verify since the pedestrian wore a cap pulled low on his forehead and the collar of his shirt turned up as if to ward off a chill despite the warmth of the day. Whatever his decrepitude, the greeting by the concierge at the desk evidenced he and the dog belonged in the building.

After an elevator ride, Lang and Grumps exited facing a rather poor reproduction Boule chest topped with a worse reproduction of a Ming vase. Even the flowers it contained were silk, not real. Lang knew the condo association's decorator was gay. Strange he had an affinity for reproduction of any sort.

The building's elevators opened onto a sort of foyer with a condominium unit around each corner. Two steps to his right brought Lang to his door where Gurt, Manfred in hand, was talking to a burly man in a sport shirt and slacks, no doubt the contractor the condo association had recommended.

"Mr. Haverly?"

Lang extended his hand to have it encased in a bear's paw. "Mr. Reilly. I was just describing to your missus here what our options might be. You understand we're pretty much starting from scratch."

"Pretty much, if that," Lang replied hurriedly, before Gurt could correct the man's perception of her marital status. "Even fixed up, the place is too small. I'd like to get it done on a reasonable budget as quickly as possible, put it on the market."

While Haverly seemed to be considering this new twist, Lang leaned over and unlocked the door. He shoved it open, releasing the odor of things burned.

Manfred made an exaggerated face, holding his nose. "Phew! Still stinks!"

Grumps snorted his disapproval before taking tentative steps inside.

Lang waited a second for Gurt to join in, grateful when she didn't.

Haverly's eyes were taking in the empty shell of what had been Lang's home when the contractor's cell phone beeped.

"Yeah?"

He turned to Lang. "One of my men's downstairs, says there's a delivery truck from Home Depot."

Lang's sigh was lost in the sound of his grinding teeth. At least this time he would meet face-to-face with a flesh-and-blood employee instead of a sympathetic but totally unhelpful telephone voice.

He handed Grumps's leash to Gurt. "I'll be back in a minute."

Seeing his expression, she shook her head. "Remember, the man is only doing his work. It will do no good to gnaw him."

"Chew him out."

"That either."

Lang used the elevator ride to try to cool off. Gurt was right: Blasting a mere truck deliveryman wasn't going to solve the problem. Maybe he could hold the truck hostage, maybe…

The elevator doors wheezed open and Lang stormed into the building's lobby. And stopped as though he had hit a brick wall. The cool marble was empty except for the doorman and the concierge who were staring at him as they might a man suddenly gone mad. There was no truck waiting on the other side of the glass doors, no one waiting for him here.

"Is there anything wrong, Mr. Reilly?" asked the doorman, whose expression said he thought, yes, there was something very wrong with Mr. Reilly.

"A delivery truck," Lang stammered, "And an associate of Mr. Haverly…"

"Mr. Haverly?" the concierge asked, a note of concern breaking through his professional calm like a rock jutting above the surface of an otherwise placid ocean. He looked out onto the empty circular driveway. "Delivery truck?"