Warren Murphy: Prophet Of Doom

Not while it still dwelled within him.

It would first need to be removed.

With a sudden desperate leap, Remo forced his spirit outward. In a flash of blinding energy he was in control of his body once more.

His limbs jolted at the sudden surge of energy in his muscles, and Remo, still wrapped in the loosened coils of the deadly python, dropped in a heap to the cage floor.

In a struggle that wasn't visible externally, but that exploded within him with a force more powerful than a supernova, Remo seized his essence from the spirit of the Pythia, taking hold of his own mind like a tenacious climber scrambling for a handhold above the precipice of his own darkest fears.

Desperately he held on to his body with his mind, with his will, with his very soul.

The snake, jarred loose by Remo's actions, relaxed its coils from around its slender prey, to slither off into the leaf-choked shadows, apparently deciding that its meal was no longer worth the effort needed to conquer.

Sweating and shivering, Remo climbed to his feet.

His mind had touched that of the creature within him—and he now knew what it had intended all along.

The Pythia was as much a servant of Apollo as the

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vessels were servants to the Pythia. And the giant evil thing that had moved toward him in his thoughts was the spirit of the sun god himself, ready to take possession of Pythia's latest vessel.

East would meet West within him.

Remo felt the mocking presence at the periphery of his thoughts once again and knew it to be Apollo.

He couldn't beat him. He had quelled the spirit of Apollo for now, beaten the Pythia twice in as many days, but he couldn't fight this battle over and over again. It had taken all his inner strength to stave off the Pythia this time. Next time Remo couldn't hope to win. Not until he banished the spirit that lurked within the darkest recesses of his own mind.

The spirit had slithered into his mind via the smoke and steam of the Pythia Pit, and instinct told him that any hope of separating their intertwined minds resided in the rocky hillock of the modern Delphic temple far to the west.

Remo would have to return to Ranch Ragnarok.

His jaw set in grim determination, Remo jumped down from the cage.

Behind him the torpid python slept peacefully in the shadows.

In a darkened basement room on Long Island Sound, a pair of hazel eyes opened with a start.

The only sound to stir in the room in more than six hours was that of the heavy door opening and closing.

Kaspar was standing atop the Pythia platform in his pale priestly vestments.

This was odd, thought Esther Clear-Seer. He hadn't worn the strange pagan robes since the young Sinanju Master had fled into the night two days before.

Kaspar glared angrily at Esther as she mounted the stairs.

"What is this?" he demanded, pointing.

Behind him, sandwiched between two burly Truth Church acolytes, was Buffy Brand. The young girl looked pale and shaken.

"This is the sneaking Fed I caught with Cole's daughter," Esther explained, forcing a steady tone. She noted with surprise that Lori Cole was seated once more atop the small wooden tripod. All that was missing from the strange scene was the noxious yellow smoke. A column of vaporous steam rose up from the rock fissure. That was all.

Kaspar tapped his foot impatiently. "She is still alive," he said, extending an index finger toward Buffy.

"Oh, I didn't tell you?" Esther returned blandly.

"You told me you killed her."

Esther shook her head. "I told you I took care of

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her," she corrected. "And I did. And what were you doing snooping around the bunkers?"

Kaspar grew angry. "She escaped," he hissed at Esther. ' 'We were lucky one of the patrols stumbled upon her."

It was Esther who was angry now as she turned on Buffy. She thought she had locked the girl securely away in a tiny punishment cubicle in one of the rear bunkers. Perhaps the girl might have compatriots on the Truth Church grounds, she thought. "How did you get out?" she demanded.

Buffy refused to respond. Her mouth was twisted shut in defiance.

Esther turned back to Kaspar. "It doesn't matter anymore," she said firmly. "She didn't escape."

"The young one from Sinanju was able to escape in spite of his injuries," Kaspar countered. "I am wondering now if it was this little spy who aided him."

Esther suddenly remembered the two rows of dead Truth Church guards who had ambushed Remo within the Ragnarok compound. The video cameras and explosives that night had been intended to disorient the young Sinanju Master named Remo and lure him back to the Pythia Pit. Esther had been surprised to find that so many of the guards had been shot from behind. They didn't have video on the incident. She assumed that Remo had captured a weapon and assassinated the acolytes himself.

"So what if she helped the guy escape?" Esther said, knowing that it did indeed make a great deal of difference. "He hasn't blabbed to the FBI yet. He's

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probably lying dead somewhere out in the greasewood scrub."

"You are a fool," Kaspar snapped.

"Not as big a one as you are," Esther replied calmly. "Look, it would be better for us in court if we kept this one alive."

"That's good advice," Buffy said, glaring at Kaspar. "The two of you are finished."

Buffy had given up struggling long before. Her hands were bound with thick rope cords, and her wrists were bloodied from trying to twist herself free. The Truth Church acolytes squeezed her biceps in their meaty fists. She subsided.

"Now, now," Esther remonstrated. "Remember the Book of Samuel, wherein we are instructed by our Lord to turn the other cheek."

"There is no Book of Samuel," Buffy said flatly. "And I prefer Revelations." She began quoting. '"And the beast was seized and with it the false prophet. And these two were cast alive into the pool of fire that burns with brimstone.'" Buffy's stare bore into the blackened soul of Esther Clear-Seer, and when the young woman smiled her perfect smile, it was sincere.

Esther shivered involuntarily. The Feds these days were getting creepier and creepier.

"Okay—you win. Go ahead and kill her," she muttered to Kaspar.

"No," Kaspar said. "She is to be a sacrifice to my master..."

Esther arched a very black eyebrow. "Graduated from goats, have you?"

"And you will perform the sacrifice."

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Esther waved the suggestion away. "I don't stoop to slaughtering goats or lambs," she said. "Have one of the acolytes do it."

"You will perform the ritual, for it was you who saw fit to hide this spy from my sight. Perhaps this will help you to better grasp your earthly obligations."

Esther bit her tart tongue. No point in arguing. Just kill the girl and get on with her life. She dared not tell him that she had driven out to Hot Springs State Park and released the last Pythia into the wild like a captivity-bred condor. Her mind was shot, and she'd probably die from exposure. But if she survived, Esther could always claim at the trial she tried to help the girl out.

"Do you want me to do it now?" she asked, controlling herself.

Kaspar shook his head. "It is not the appointed time. Are your acolytes in readiness for the senator's reception?"

Esther nodded. "Everything's set. After today I doubt they'll be my acolytes any longer. No way can the Truth Church survive the hell about to break loose in Thermopolis."

"Oh, it will survive," Kaspar assured her. "When my master returns to us, we will unleash power greater than any seen on this planet in two millennia."

Kaspar turned away from Esther and began fussing around the tripod and the Cole girl. "Go supervise the operation," he said dismissively. "Be certain that nothing goes wrong."