" Lots. First, Father has launched a Mission that’s very private and no one
but the agents involved know of. He did it a few weeks ago. It’s supposed to be where
an undercover cleric infiltrates the City and relays all your information to Father
himself."

" But we haven’t had any other clerics around here but the ones who snoop the
place. I’ll tell Carey to be alert."

" Also," Job said, biting his lip, " I think they have me on their
suspect list. Christian Combs, my partner, may be getting suspicious about how I use my
time when not on duty. I can’t shrug him off and made some excuse about Ezra being
sick. But he didn’t buy it, I know. Canines aren’t programmed to get sick, and
he knows it. Then there was an attack on me."

" Attack?" the Pope asked, sitting up straighter. His eyes were alarmed and
Job could almost hear the old man’s heart thumping out of his body.

" It was nothing big," he lied. " But there was someone who rushed at me
with their nodachi -"

" What?" the Pope interrupted, puzzled.

" Their Japanese sword. They didn’t kill me, but no one has had the guts to
tell me who it was. I think they were told not to tell." He paused and looked into
Father’s eyes sincerely. " All that, plus someone tried to get into my flat
today, just now."

" Did you catch them?"

" Not red-handed, but I know someone was there. You know I’ve trained Ezra
ever since I began with you. He knows what to look after and how to act. The way he was
acting today let me know what room the man was in."

" How do you know it was a man?"

" I’m trained to know. He left faint footprints and a smell of cologne."
Very familiar cologne, he added to himself. " I didn’t go after him
because I don’t want to get caught before I could tell you and get you alert."

" Caught? You’re not getting caught."

" They’re onto us, and I know it."

Father sniffed. " Nonsense. Carey!" he called loudly.

The door opened and Clemens poked his head in. " Yes? You need something?"

" Get me Carey."

Clemens nodded and disappeared.

Pope turned to Job. " I think we’re not ready to go on. We need more time to
be prepared for what you’re going to do." He looked closely at Job. " Are
you sure you can do this still? I see you stressed more than I am, and I think if you
can’t fall under the strain, then don’t go on. I would hate to think you could
fail because you’re not emotionally apt to do this, but it would be worse if we leave
this off and you get caught."

Job shook his head. " I can do this. It has nothing to do with me. You know all
these things that have happened could be signs. They’re onto us. And what do you need
to get ready to go on at a faster pace?"

The Father looked past Job and thought carefully what to say. " Well, there is the
fact that we haven’t gotten our contact clerics stationed where they have to be. You
know that’s going to take time to do. And what about the fact that you’re not
ready to go on?"

Job looked up sharply. " What makes you say that?"

Father shrugged. " I’m old and weak, but I have God in me. He tells me
you’re troubled. And I know you’re going to say it’s because of the fact
that you’re killing innocent people, but there’s more to it."

Job shook his head slowly. " I just get to thinking of all the things we’re
putting at stake just to even get people informed. It’s all such a big
risk," he said, letting his face drop to his hands. He rubbed himself vigorously and
looked up, his face red. " I think you take too much risk in even choosing me."

" Nonsense. We do it because we know that even though you may get caught and The
Movement stopped for a while, they will be shaken and they won’t expect the full
force blow we have in store for them." He paused to cough, the sound seeming to
explode out of his throat. Job frowned, but the Pope continued. " I have faith in
you, Job. You have God bursting in your veins. He’s in your blood and you’ve
felt Him all along. There was no one to tell you it was good to feel Him, but you felt it
all on your own. You just needed someone to tell you it was alright to feel so. And now,
all the strength you get, you get from Him and your heart."

Job studied the wrinkles in his hand. His left hand was tough from kendo training, and
his right from gun instruction. But no matter how tough he was in body, his mind and
emotions were still taking it hard to accept what he was forced to do, what was against
his morals and present beliefs. " I guess," he finally said, " you’re
right. I am still a baby that has to learn the world is tough. But," he protested
quickly, looking at the Pope, " I can get used to it. If it’s a matter of life
or death, and I absolutely have t o restrain myself, I’ll do it. For you. For
God."

" No, Job. You have to do it for you. No one else can give you the physical
strength for what you have and are going to do. The rest is just a trick of handling your
nerves. Were you not trained to do so by The System?"

" Yes, but what I learned in The System and what I’m doing now, are very
different. I don’t want to mix them up. And the only reason I was able to do all
Elohim taught me was because I had no conscious then. I was stone and heartless, cold and
unmerciful. I’ve hopefully changed all of that for the better."

" Of course you have. You’ve been enlightened into the world of
righteousness."

Job looked at the Pope thoughtfully and wondered if he knew about what Elohim had
taught him and many others about enlightenment. He visualized the words from The System
Text:

Be enlightened and be secular to have your eyes opened to the Evil that is God.

" You called me?"

Job turned toward the door. His voice caught when he saw who the man was.

The man was a cleric he knew very well. It was Carey Viper, a cleric in charge of the
cells and pilate prisoners. He was older than Job by about ten years, and had the face and
attitude of a rock. He was tough, but it had never gotten into Job that this man could
have been swung over to The Movement.

" Yes, Carey. Job thinks it’s about time for us to step up our pace on the
plan. But I don’t think it might be so serious. And we need more time. What do you
think?"

Job stood, awed, and shook Carey’s hand. " Cleric Viper? I never thought of
you as a Sympathetic."

"" I’m not," Carey said, letting Job’s hand drop. "
I’m a proselyte."

Job smiled. This wasn’t a Carey he had seen before. Carey was in charge of booking
and jailing men he and Christian brought in. Because of so few men he had brought in
lately, Job hadn’t seen Carey in a while. But even so, he saw the difference.
Carey’s hard cold blue eyes looked warm and his whole body seemed more relaxed. I
wonder if that’s how I look...

" Tell Job what you think, Carey," Father ordered from his bed. He held up
his Bible again and continued reading.

Job sat back down and Carey sat across from him. " We do need a little bit more
time. There’s no way we can get the chosen clerics to where they’re supposed to
be in a few days."

" Why not?" Job asked.

" Because getting posts takes time. Maybe for you it was different, because you
were honored from the beginning, but for the rest, the going is tough. There’s weeks
of training for the post, hours spent on drilling in emergency case scenarios, written
tests," he counted on his fingers, " and then there’s the personal meeting
you get with Elohim himself."

Job’s brow set. " If it’s so much work, why get it? Why do they need to
even have the posts?"

" You’re going to need back-up, okay? You can’t do this alone, no matter
what you’re used to. They have to spy on how you’re doing, make sure the
conditions are good for you."

" In other words, they have to baby-sit me."

" No, not at all. They’re the ones who get you the tools you need and
everything. And in case you do get caught, they’re the ones who get you out under the
best clerics’ noses."

Job was thoughtful for a moment. " How long do you need to get them where
they’re supposed to be?"

Carey rubbed his hands together, rock face held in thought. " If we have to
squeeze time to a minimum... Maybe three weeks."

Job sighed and clutched his hair. " Okay. I’ll give it to you. But only three
weeks, no more."

Carey nodded. " Okay, fair enough. So just give us the time. If you go on like
there’s nothing wrong, then they’ll lay low for a while. Make it tough for them
to get any leads. Catch more pilates, be the way you used to be. Keep training the way you
used to do and be cold and shallow." He paused and then asked. " How’s your
wound?"

Job winced as the Pope cried, " Wound? What wound, Job?"

Carey glanced at the Pope and then at Job. He gave him an apologetic smile and raised
his eyebrow. " Sorry."

Job closed his eyes for strength and then turned to the Pope.

" What wound is he talking about, Job?" the old man asked, lowering his
Bible.

Job sighed softly and then said, " I didn’t tell you because it’s
nothing."

" Nothing? You probably didn’t because they told you I was sick and old and
couldn’t take stress. But tell me. I’ll say what I can handle and
can’t."

Job glanced at Carey who looked down at the floor, leaving him to himself. " Okay.
Fine. When I was at the Parish Grounds, a cleric came to me and wounded me on the chest
with his nodachi."

Mateo’s eyes widened. " And was the wound big?"

" I was in the hospital for two weeks. It wasn’t necessary, but I was there.
And I was released today."

The Pope shook his head. " And you weren’t going to tell me?"

" I told you I was attacked. And this is just a taste of what they’re doing
to us. I bet they have us on surveillance twenty-four hours a day."

Carey was thoughtful. " I think you’re right. They made a straight attack at
you." He leaned forward, eyebrows forced together. " I think we should push it
to two weeks. I can get the men to do all their requirements in succession so we
don’t waste time."

" But won’t people get suspicious?" Job asked.

Carey rose and looked down at him. " If you’re right, and they have started
tailing us, they might go faster, too. But I don’t think they’ll do anything
until you miss a step. As long as you’re careful, I think we could manage to
go faster without catching their attention." He walked to the door and then turned
when he had his hand on the doorknob. " You should keep them on tip-toes. But try to
be normal. Don’t hint away that you’re with us. And when I see you, don’t
take it personally if I don’t chat you up." He smiled and left.

Job got up, too. " I think I should get going. I didn’t bring my car and
it’s a walk to my flat." He stretched his arm out and winced a little at the
pull on his wound.

" Let me bless you."

Job walked closer to the Pope and hunched over a bit. He closed his eyes as the
Pope’s hand made a cross over him and the Pope said, " In the name of the
Father, and the Son, and the Holy Spirit."

Job opened his eyes and kissed the cross. " Amen."

" Bless you. And be safe. Don’t do anything rash."

" I won’t." He headed to the door and looked back at the Pope. He had
once more continued with his Bible and was moving his lips silently.

They came out into the empty lot. Clemens stopped and Job stopped beside him. "
So, do you know what you do now?" Clemens asked, gazing up at the night sky.

" Yeah." Job hid his hands in his cloak and checked to see who was out. But
there was no one in sight.

" I know you think I hate you. But the thing is, I just distrust you."

Job turned to him, surprised at what he had just said. But he had offered the
conversation and he would take it. " Why do you distrust me?"

Clemens avoided his eyes. " You’re one of the most famous clerics in the
history of The System. You were so, even before you were eighteen. What need do you have
to go against the hand that feeds you? We should be hesitant because this could only be a
way to get more fame. Wouldn’t it be great for you to gain our trust and then feed
everything to Elohim? You’d be the most rewarded man on earth."

" Look," Job said, eyes closing sleepily for a second. " I don’t do
this for the fame or the money or the recognition. I do this because this was what I was
brainwashed into doing. And the only salvation for all the crap I’ve done is to put
my life on the line and save religion. Be it Catholicism or Judaism, I don’t care. I
want them all back and I want the ones who took them away to be punished."

" Do you think you’ll be able to do this by yourself?" Clemens asked
curiously. He now looked Job in the face.

" I hope not," Job said, hanging his head. He kicked a pebble away from his
shoe.

" I think if I had to do this by myself, I’d go nuts. What do I know about
killing unmercifully when you don’t want to?"

Clemens nodded slowly. " I guess. But even though I accept what you’re doing,
I’m keeping an eye on you. For your safety and for ours."

Job gave him a thankful look. He smiled at him. " Thanks. I guess."

Clemens gave him a pat on the back. " Go home," he said, but Job heard the
warmth in the tone.

He began walking quickly home, crossing the vast space by himself, but feeling
Clemens’ watchful eyes guiding him home.

He felt well enough to ride to the station. He passed the sentry on the way out,
noticing the way the man watched him. " Come on, Ezra," he ordered in a voice
without emotion. He led him down the steep staircase and made his way to his car. He
waited for Ezra to get in the car and was about to get in himself, when the sentry called,
" Cleric?"

He stopped and turned around. " Yes?"

The man walked to him. " Are you sure you should be going somewhere? I mean,
don’t you have to stay home for a few more days until you’re allowed to go out
again?"

Job stared at the man for a few seconds, trying to figure out what he meant by it. But,
realizing that no matter how bad he hated this man, he couldn’t make everyone his
enemy. " I feel fine. They over exaggerate about these things."

The man stared at him suspiciously, then glanced into the car at Ezra, who was sitting
stiff as a board and was looking straight. " Well trained dog, you have, huh?"

Job pressed his lips together. But he said, " Yeah. They train them well for
clerics."

The sentry gave him a funny look. " Oh, yeah?" He glanced at Ezra.

Job didn’t trust the look in the man’s eye. He gripped the door tightly, his
knuckles turning white.

" Your dog’s not like the other cleric canines."

" Really? He comes from the same breed-"

" No, no," the man said, shaking his head and holding up his hand for Job to
be quiet. " He acts different."

Job’s body stiffened.

" Your dog," the man continued, crossing his arms over his chest, " is
not like the other dogs. This guy -" he motioned to Ezra with his chin " - is
the perfect match for you. He guards you, and protects you, and listens to your every
command."

Job tried to laugh away his anxiety. " I’m not sure what you think cleric
canines are supposed to do, but they are supposed to do all of that."

" I know," the man said, not at all fazed. " He just does it all out of
love."

Job’s throat caught. " Canines aren’t supposed to show emotions."

" Neither are you for him, I gather?"

Job heard the accusation in the man’s tone. He burrowed his eyebrows fiercely and
glared at him. " Do you have something to accuse me of, Sir?"

The sentry did a double take of Job’s face. " Well, no. I’m only making
an observation."

" I suggest you watch the way you word your observations," he said with
malice. " I don’t want to hear what you have to say." He turned and got
into the car, slamming the door shut. He gripped the wheel and the engine came to life.

" You can’t fool him, sir."

Job turned to glare at the sentry. The man had walked closer and was leaning to look
into the window. " What did you say?" he asked.