The Stolen Gospels Read Free Page A

raspy voice. He started to speak, then cleared his throat several times and drank more water. “We’ll have to move quickly,” he said, regaining his vocal ability at last. “Tomorrow she’s leaving for the Greek city of Salonika to meet with a doctor.”
    “She’s ill?” Styx asked.
    “No, the doctor—Katherine Pangalos—is a wealthy eccentric, and according to intelligence reports she’s a big UWW contributor. Billings is probably going there to pick up a hefty check.”
    “Greece is unstable,” Styx said. It was a phrase the BOI used, meaning the organization didn’t have much political influence on a particular government, and it was suspected that the UWW did.
    “Unstable, yes,” Culpepper said, “making what I have in mind a bit more difficult. But we have guerrilla forces in Macedonia, the same people we used in Turkey and the Ukraine.”
    “Ah yes, our legendary Night Fighters.”
    “Exactly. I want you to mobilize them for a covert operation.”
    Styx: “Mmmm. To assassinate someone?”
    The fat man smiled. “You’re quick, Styx. You’ll make a fine Minister one day.” Then he asked, “Now what is it you wanted to talk about?”
    “One of Billings’ closest associates, Dixie Lou Jackson.”
    “The black witch?”
    “Uh huh. As luck would have it she’s vulnerable, too. Before joining the UWW she conducted a goddess circle in a Seattle suburb, and now she’s going back for a guest appearance at a related group.”
    “When?”
    “Tomorrow evening. It’s in a private home owned by an associate, near Lake Washington.”
    “That is interesting, and Styx, luck has nothing to do with it. God is moving the heretics into position for us.”
    “For two commando attacks, sir?”
    Culpepper nodded. “We’ll stage the Seattle raid from here. You lead it. Our Athens office will handle the other one.”
    Styx’s narrow, bespectacled face grew warm with anticipated pleasure. Having been trained as a US Marine before joining the Bureau, he enjoyed using weapons and often participated in surprise raids. “Praise the Lord,” he intoned. “Demon blood will flow.”
    * * *
    140 miles west, in Seattle . . .
    Within the privacy of her bedroom, surrounded by holo-photos taped to the walls, an auburn-haired teenager replayed her phone messages and heard the disturbing words again: “I’m gonna kill you for what you did, girl.”
    Lori Vale didn’t recognize the muffled male voice that came through speakers in her ceiling, and no name had been left; but based upon what her friends were saying, she suspected who it was—Chad O’Kray—a twenty-year-old street punk who had provided her with a place to stay after she’d run away from home the month before. On probation for a drug offense, he’d been charged with a felony for harboring a runaway, since Lori was a minor. According to rumor, he’d been blaming her for his legal troubles, but she wasn’t sure why.
    Hearing a door close downstairs and the familiar footsteps of her mother as she prepared to leave for work, Lori snapped her fingers to erase the message. The threat didn’t frighten her in the least, and she would take care of it herself.
    * * *
    Across the world, inside the centuries-old Greek church, Dixie Lou Jackson sat somberly with her fellow councilwomen, in a half-circle of black leather chairs. They watched Amy Angkor-Billings as the elegant woman took a seat in a high-back red leather chair facing them.
    “Immense changes are in the wind,” Amy said, “a shift in the cosmos from male to female energy. The destructive forces of men are waning—”
    On a table by Dixie Lou a computer screen was on, a coded Internet connection that linked them with United Women of the World contacts all over the world—cells run by women who were capable of activating secret paramilitary forces on short notice. Peripherally, she watched the screen scroll.
    “Praise be to She-God!” the women intoned.
    A petite Cambodian with a regal