Mark of Evil Read Free

of inches of the rope before the tattooed bounty hunter caught up to him and wrestled him to the ground. As the two men struggled, Ethan caught a glimpse of Ponytail picking up the pistol. An instant later the man had the multibarrelled gun in his hand and with three shots left was running full speed toward Ethan.
    It was now or never. Ethan punched his assailant solidly in the face, knocking him out. As the ponytailed gunman ran toward him, Ethan lifted up the listless bounty hunter and held him like a shield. Mr. Ponytail fired and hit the bleary-eyed tattoo guy squarely in the back. With a low groan he registered the strike, now only semiconscious.
    Ethan dropped him and vaulted over the fence to rappel down the rope. By the time he reached the porch of the second floor below, Mr.Ponytail was aiming his gun down at him. Ethan swung himself out of sight onto the patio.
    An elderly couple sat there on the deck in folding chairs. They watched him, wide-eyed with mouths agape.
    “Folks,” Ethan announced hurriedly, “you’d better go inside.” He pointed to the sliding door that led to their little porch. “Stay there for your safety. I’m borrowing one of your chairs.”
    The elderly man nodded hesitantly, like he was trying to understand. He and his wife rose unsteadily to their feet, Ethan helping the wife until she had both feet planted beneath her, and made their way into their apartment.
    Ethan snatched up a folding chair and collapsed it. He stepped up to the edge of the patio and waited. Two seconds later Ponytail came sliding down the rope with his gun now jammed in his pocket. When he saw Ethan staring back at him, he grabbed frantically at the weapon, trying to yank it out of his pocket as he swung back and forth on the rope.
    Ethan raised the folding chair. “Stop persecuting God’s people.” He swung the metal chair and smacked it into the man’s midsection. Mr. Ponytail dropped off of the rope and fell straight down, clipping through an awning and finally landing on his back on the roof of a car.
    Ethan grabbed the rope and finished rappelling down to the sidewalk below. The ponytailed thug was rolling around in pain on the car’s roof like a turtle on its back. Reaching into his pocket, Ethan pulled out a gospel tract and tossed it onto the man’s chest. “Read that,” he said to him. “Seriously. You’re on the wrong side. There’s still time to turn your life around.”
    Then he placed under the windshield wiper of the car a few old-fashioned international CReDO currency bills. He’d heard a few merchants were still accepting those remnants of the last one-world currency that had been in circulation before the world’s money system went totally digital. Those bills would cover the damage to thecar roof. He felt bad about the torn awning, but there was nothing he could do about that now.
    He limped across the street to another apartment complex and made his way through the lobby to a back entrance that led to an alley. He’d have to use a staggered route for the first part of his walk up to the Acropolis to avoid detection. He was feeling the heat from the Global Alliance in Athens.
    Only one thing to do: After the meeting, time to leave the area and relocate .
    Ethan made his way to Therios Street, where it took a steep turn up to the Acropolis and its overshadowing marble structures, the Parthenon and the Temple of Athena—monuments to the long-dead prestige of pagan Athens. Therios Street would put him in the wide open, but there wasn’t any other way to get there. Once up among the ancient ruins, things might be safer, at least on the ground. With the devastating effect of worldwide depression, tourism was a bust. The grounds surrounding the ancient sites were usually vacant, except for hordes of homeless people sleeping under trees.
    As Ethan glanced up at the familiar remnants of ancient Greece where he would meet Louder and Gikas, he began to silently pray. For a successful meeting.