Free The Stolen Gospels by Brian Herbert Page B

had then flown to a public park where they’d abandoned the helicopter and boarded vans—vehicles that were miles away by the time the aircraft’s self-destruct mechanism detonated.
    The holo-recording came to an end. The virtual-reality field faded and went off. The office lights grew brighter, and for a moment Styx focused on a large clear plastic bag of articles taken in the raid—purses, scarves, a drawing of a woman standing with Jesus, a gray figurine of another woman with long hair, holding a sword-cross—the symbol of their damnable organization.
    “You didn’t get Dixie Lou Jackson!” the overweight Minister said, slamming a thick fist on his desk.
    “She is extremely clever, and our time was strictly limited,” Styx said in his high-pitched voice. He pushed his wire-rimmed glasses higher on his nose. “In the other raid we got Amy Angkor-Billings, though, the Chairwoman—”
    “You had nothing to do with that operation. Your Seattle mission was a failure.”
    “But Jackson escaped in a van hidden in a side garage. Two of our men were hit and killed by the vehicle, and someone in the van shot two more.”
    “All dead?”
    Styx hesitated, then: “Regrettably, yes.”
    “You shouldn’t have lost any.”
    “Satellite surveillance failed at exactly the wrong time, which wasn’t my fault. If the satellite had been working, we would have gotten her for sure.”
    “You know I don’t accept excuses, Styx.”
    “All right.” He heaved a deep sigh, raising and lowering his shoulders. “Maybe the Dark Angel helped her.”
    “Your failures have less to do with Satan than with your own inadequacies. Are you forgetting who we have on our side?”
    “No.” Styx hung his head. The Minister was getting worked up, and arguing with him would only make matters worse. Tertullian was one of nine vice ministers, each with a different area of responsibility. Aside from his own Department of Minority Affairs (which included jurisdiction over Bureau matters involving women, homosexuals and racial minorities), the other departments were Doctrine & Faith, Education, Finance, Military Affairs, Media & Publishing, Foreign Policy, Judicial Operations, and Construction & Transport.
    Another large area of concern to the Bureau was Political Affairs, but under Culpepper’s watch this was not under the jurisdiction of a vice minister. Instead the Minister handled it himself, using his political contacts in high places to obtain funding. He was a master fund raiser.
    “Who has the greater powers, God or Satan?” the Minister asked, revealing his cigarette-stained, yellow teeth. Originally trained in a Catholic seminary, he sometimes sounded like he was conducting Sunday school.
    “Why, God, of course.”
    “Then you should have the advantage over Jackson, shouldn’t you, since God is on our side! It must mean that the woman is stronger and smarter than you are, for she was able to thwart you.”
    Styx didn’t respond. He was thinking instead of what he would do to the prisoners the following morning. A mere woman stronger than he? The Minister was being ludicrous, stretching a point.
    “There is another possibility, of course,” Minister Culpepper said, rubbing his fat chin thoughtfully. “You know what it is, don’t you?”
    Styx shook his head. He couldn’t wait to get out of there. It was too warm and the lights were too bright. His uniform was sticking to the chair and to his sweaty thighs. He needed a shower.
    “What do you suppose that possibility is?” the lumpy man demanded. “Think about it!” He lit a cigarette.
    “I am, sir, but I can’t imagine. . . “ He felt his eyeglasses slipping down his nose, from the perspiration.
    “You’re in league with the Devil yourself!” Minister Culpepper sprayed spittle with the words. He half rose out of his chair, eyes bulging. “You’re one of his demon-lackeys!”
    “No!” Sweat poured from Styx’s brow and ran down the lenses of his glasses, getting