Gregg Loomis - The Pegasus Secret

But not for long.

Atlanta

Two weeks later

Gurt adored Atlanta. She gaped at the huge homes on West Paces Ferry, marveling that any single person could own such acreage solely for a residence. She loved the variety of restaurants in Buckhead. The high-end malls, Lenox Square, Phipps Plaza, were her nirvana, supermarkets her promised land. The multiplicity of choices both delighted and confounded her. On her first grocery shopping trip with Lang, she was unable to make a selection of anything that had more than three alternatives.

They went to a Braves game. The game did not hold as much interest as the beer and hot dogs. She came away viewing America's national pastime as a large, hot, outdoor Oktoberfest.

She adored Grumps, too, an affection equally returned.

Once returned from Sara's care, the dog missed Lang's secretary not at all, wriggling with spasms of joy whenever Gurt returned to the condominium from her outings with Lang, leaving him to muse that if the Germans had loved their fellow man anywhere near as much as they loved their dogs, the past century would have gone a-lot more smoothly.

In fact, the dog's affection became a source of humor between Gurt and Lang. Any time he put arms around Gurt, Grumps would grab Lang's shoe, socks or pants, anything he could hold in his teeth, growl and try to pull Lang away.

Lang's apprehensions about living with a woman proved unfounded. The first recognizable blow to his belief in the sanctity of his own space came from Francis.

It started when the priest came by for dinner, hamburgers cooked on a grill on the balcony accompanied by the current vintage of Chateau Budweiser in cold bottles.

After Gurt and Lang gave Francis the somewhat sanitized version of their recent European experience, Gurt and Francis got into a discussion that wandered from the medieval Church to indulgences to Martin Luther. Lang left them and went to bed about half past 1560-the year, not the hour.

At Francis's insistence, Gurt was included in dinner at Manuel's, the priest sweeping aside Lang's protests that the evenings there had been historically male-only. As the priest pointed out with Jesuitlike logic, that had only been by Lang's choice. Lang was astonished to hear her tell a joke in understandable if halting Latin. He had no idea she knew a word.

Only months later did Lang find the thin book of contemporary anecdotes with their Latin translations, Amo, Amas, Amat: Learn Latin and Amaze Your Friends. She had gone to a lot of trouble just to please him.

There were no potions on the bathroom counter, no feminine silk in the drawers. Although she was always appropriately dressed when they went out, the room in Lang's closets had not diminished. He began to wonder exactly where did she keep her stuff. He supposed that years of living in cramped apartments in Europe had made her thrifty with space.

She amused herself while Lang was at work, recounting a list of the day's activities over dinner: shopping, walking in various parks or simply enjoying Grumps's company.

Lang began to eye the calendar warily, noting the increasing speed with which her date of departure seemed to approach. Too stubborn to admit it, he nonetheless dreaded the thought.

Atlanta

A week later

It was one of those early summer evenings in Atlanta when it was easy to forget that the temperature would soon be nudging the high nineties and the slightest stirring of air perceived as a breeze. Lang and Gurt were walking Grumps along Peachtree at a pace slow enough to allow the dog to savor and return each message his predecessors had left in the grassy margin between sidewalk and street.

Gurt was to leave the next day. Lang could think of little else. "Lang," Gurt asked lazily, "have you named the bene… benefic…"

"Beneficiaries," he supplied. "Of the foundation? No, not yet. I've narrowed it to Central American relief funds that specialize in schooling and health for children, kids like Jeff. I've had to hire a staff just to screen the applicants. If I interviewed them all, I'd have to give up the law practice."

Gurt stopped to let Grumps explore a particularly interesting few square feet. "I don't understand: if the money comes from the church to the Templars to you, why not simply return it to the church?"

Lang knew from experience she had given this some thought. She rarely asked pointless questions. "Two reasons: First, if it goes right back to the church, the Templars will find out and simply raise their extortion if they haven't already. Second, the church's priorities aren't the same as mine. Not to put too fine a point on it, but in countries with limited resources, kids need to learn about birth control early, safe sex to avoid AIDS, stuff the church doesn't exactly favor."

"And the church, the Catholic Church, will continue to pay this money to these men because they do not want the world to know Jesus's body did not ascend into heaven?"

Grumps lunged forward, almost snatching the leash from Gurt's hand.

Lang reached across her body and grabbed it, reining the dog in. "Not so fast, fella. Yep. I'm no theologian, but it seems Christ could have been divine either way. The church just made a mistake early on that they don't want to admit."

She took the leash back. "To touch the tomb of God's son… It must have really been a journey, a trip."

There was something appealing about Gurt's occasional mismanagement of the American idiom, the way she twisted her face into a pout when she wasn't sure she had it right.

"I didn't; think of it that way at the time. I…" He stopped, putting both arms around her. "Screw the tomb, the Templars, whatever. Gurt, I don't want you to leave."

She rested her head against his shoulder. Another couple smiled as they detoured around them.

"What is the edge, er, point of staying? I had to practically force you to let me come. I know I cannot replace Dawn."

"Nobody can. But you're not a replacement, you're… you're you and that's plenty good enough."

"Then I guess I will stay as long as it does you happy."

"That, madam, will be forever." He kissed her lightly, oblivious to the honking horns and good-natured jeers of passing motorists. The moment was shattered by the scream of brakes and a gut-wrenching thump.

Gurt shoved herself free. "Grumps! Mein Gatt!"

"Shit!"

Each had thought the other had the leash.

A mound of black fur was crumpled on the curb where the dog had landed after impact with a car. A woman, pale and shaken, got out of a Volvo. "I didn't see him until he ran right in front of me."

Lang and Gurt ignored her, rushing to the still-quivering animal. Oblivious to the blood that ran down her blouse, Gurt scooped him up, clutching him tightly.

"Liebchen, Liebchen," she moaned. "Es tut mir so leid." Grumps licked her face before his eyes rolled back into his head and he went limp.

Lang had never seen Gurt weep before. The knowledge she had coolly shot and killed made her grief all the more touching. He took the body from her, surprised at how cold it had already become. There was no breath or heartbeat. Kneeling, he gently lowered Grumps to the ground and put his arms back around the distraught Gurt, whispering anything that might be of comfort.

A small knot of joggers, bikers and other walkers gathered, bonded by morbid curiosity, their voices respectfully low..

Later, Lang was unable to remember what happened first, the murmur of surprise or the tug at his pants leg. He looked down, certain he had momentarily lost his sanity.

Grumps, growling playfully, had the cuff of Lang's trousers in his mouth. Where the dog had lain seconds before, a puddle of blood was disappearing like the morning's dew.