Covenant

80

Pastor Kelvin Patterson sat at his desk and listened to the call coming in on his secure line as his heart seemed to stop in his chest.

“… there’s nothing left. Dr. Sheviz apparently managed to escape the raid but was abducted by the Bedouin relatives of his victims and vanished into the deserts, so whatever he learned out there has disappeared with him. All MACE assets have been seized by Israel and what’s left of Spencer Malik and Byron Stone is being collected in small bags in Jerusalem. Their jet is on its way here, however, with the remains on board.”

Patterson tried to speak but found himself unable to form coherent words. He swallowed and cleared his throat.

“Is there any chance that the connection between MACE and the Evangelical Alliance has been made by the authorities?”

The voice on the other end of the line was grim.

“Everyone is dead so nobody’s talking now, but we can’t take any chances.”

Patterson sat in catatonic silence for a long beat before slamming a clenched fist down on his desk. The sound made the two MACE guards standing by the door of the office glance across at him. He forced himself to calm down.

“Then this is damage limitation. We must hold them off for as long as possible. Intercept the jet when it reaches Dulles and ensure that the remains on board are safely locked away before the FBI or anyone else can seize them. Destroy everyone and everything that may betray our involvement, is that clear?”

“That may involve people, not just material.”

“Do what must be done, for the greater good.”

Patterson put the phone down and looked at his two guards. “Gentlemen, Senator Isaiah Black will be attending his primary rally in the District this evening. I am going to request that he call in here beforehand. Please ensure that the church is secure, that all church employees are sent home, and all security staff are at their posts.”

One of the guards frowned.

“We heard that Byron Stone is dead,” he said uncertainly. “We’re not sure who should be giving us our orders if—”

“Byron Stone is indeed dead,” Patterson snapped. “Which means you do as I tell you. Unless you’d rather be unemployed?”

Both of the guards nodded curtly and left the office.

Patterson waited until they were gone before rubbing his face with his hands, struggling to maintain his composure. He walked across to the towering chrome crucifix, standing before the altar and falling slowly to his knees.

“Give me strength, Father, to do what must be done.”

Slowly, he stood, and with one hand moved the bronze eagle on his desk. Moments later, and he was walking down a narrow passage concealed behind the walls of his office, descending in silence to where a door opened into a chamber where the sound of his footfalls sounded dead, as though soulless and without form.

He flicked a switch on the wall, and a single fluorescent tube illuminated an operating theater complete with heart-bypass machine, monitors, glass cabinets filled with vials and serums, and a single, T-shaped operating table.

He checked that everything was in order and ready for his guest before returning to his office. He picked up the phone and began to dial Senator Black’s personal number.