Free Pentecost by J.F. Penn Page B

but it was actually an old fashioned skin on a highly technical relational database. The user could roam the shelves, pulling various objects out and creating virtual pin boards or files of information. The system would suggest other artifacts or documents in the form of a friendly virtual librarian.  
      Jake entered the pod, and pulled the door shut behind him. As the device initialized he was transported to the open space of the Radcliffe Camera, surrounded by stacks of books and a high ceiling that stretched into the dome above. Even the quality of light was softer here, rays of sunlight streaming in from the arched windows. The librarian walked out from behind the stacks. She was the archetype of fantasy, complete with brunette bun and buttoned-up beige cardigan. Jake noticed that her cardigan had a button undone showing just a little more cleavage, no doubt one of Martin’s ‘improvements.’ He addressed her directly.  
    “I need information on Morgan Sierra, paranormal psychologist and lecturer at Oxford University. What do you have on her?”
      As the librarian accessed the databases, her image flickered. Then she smiled, passing him an old fashioned file that opened up to a full view screen in front of him. He scrolled through the information, flicking through Morgan’s past, displayed in images, documents, even audio and video clips. ARKANE had access to all official records but also shared information with other secret services around the world. He stopped at her record from the Israeli Defense Force. He knew she had served, as all young men and women there are conscripted for military service, but there was more detailed information on her life back then.  
    Jake felt a twinge of guilt at looking through her life in this way, but he needed to know what he was dealing with. He saw that Morgan had been funded in her psychology studies by the Defense Force and had specialized in religious fundamentalism. She had headed up a team to try and understand as well as change the hearts and minds of those who hated Israel. It would have been a thankless task. There were also notes about her mental health and physical fitness. It seemed she could look after herself, being proficient in Krav Maga, an Israeli martial art. There were photos of her even competing in national competitions.  
    Jake opened the file on the death of Morgan’s husband, Elian, who was killed in active service. It seemed she had been there when he died. Then he swore under his breath to read about her parents. Both were deceased, but her father had been murdered by a suicide bomber on the number 12 bus in downtown Beersheba, Israel. He opened the images. There were devastating shots of body parts strewn amongst metal shards and shopping bags. One picture showed a sack of oranges in bright color as a severed arm reached for them in the foreground. After the incident, Morgan had changed her name back to her father’s Sierra and left Israel for life as an academic. Jake wondered whether the memories of that violence still haunted her, as the death of his own family tormented his endless nights and did it make her an unstable partner? Jake swiped the file into his storage area for later retrieval. A ping sounded and a message flashed in the corner of the screen from Martin. ‘Marietti wants to see you. NOW.’

Blackfriars. Oxford, England.
  May 19, 11.17am

     Father Ben Costanza knelt in the dim light of Blackfriars chapel, his white head bent in prayer as his fingers counted the wooden rosary beads tied at his waist, although his fingers moved more slowly now that arthritis had sapped his dexterity. The church was simple for a Catholic place of worship with white stone walls lit in the day by wide windows. There was no stained glass, only clear panels with decorative stonework. Ben watched as motes of dust floated in the light from the windows, streaming down to the altar of russet speckled marble. At night, candles in large silver