Father Michael Flannery is Keeper of the Sign, prophesied to bring the gospel of peace to the world. On his way to New York for a landmark symposium of the world's largest religious groups, Flannery barely escapes assassination. Not content with possessing the scroll, Via Dei is determined to tie up loose ends and ensure that Father Flannery's message never gets out.
Interwoven with this modern-day suspense is the story of Tobias Garlande, a scholar living during the First Crusade. Burdened with terrifying visions of future tragedies, Tobias is the first Keeper. His connection to Father Flannery echoes across centuries with a simple warning: You must not fail.
Combining international intrigue and suspense with fascinating historical detail, Armor of God continues to explore the ramifications of true faith with a compelling tale of past and present religious turmoil and touching human drama.
At the Publisher's request, this title is being sold without Digital Rights Management Software (DRM) applied.
Father Michael Flannery is Keeper of the Sign, prophesied to bring the gospel of peace to the world. On his way to New York for a landmark symposium of the world's largest religious groups, Flannery barely escapes assassination. Not content with possessing the scroll, Via Dei is determined to tie up loose ends and ensure that Father Flannery's message never gets out.
Interwoven with this modern-day suspense is the story of Tobias Garlande, a scholar living during the First Crusade. Burdened with terrifying visions of future tragedies, Tobias is the first Keeper. His connection to Father Flannery echoes across centuries with a simple warning: You must not fail.
Combining international intrigue and suspense with fascinating historical detail, Armor of God continues to explore the ramifications of true faith with a compelling tale of past and present religious turmoil and touching human drama.
At the Publisher's request, this title is being sold without Digital Rights Management Software (DRM) applied.
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Overview
Father Michael Flannery is Keeper of the Sign, prophesied to bring the gospel of peace to the world. On his way to New York for a landmark symposium of the world's largest religious groups, Flannery barely escapes assassination. Not content with possessing the scroll, Via Dei is determined to tie up loose ends and ensure that Father Flannery's message never gets out.
Interwoven with this modern-day suspense is the story of Tobias Garlande, a scholar living during the First Crusade. Burdened with terrifying visions of future tragedies, Tobias is the first Keeper. His connection to Father Flannery echoes across centuries with a simple warning: You must not fail.
Combining international intrigue and suspense with fascinating historical detail, Armor of God continues to explore the ramifications of true faith with a compelling tale of past and present religious turmoil and touching human drama.
At the Publisher's request, this title is being sold without Digital Rights Management Software (DRM) applied.
Product Details
| ISBN-13: | 9781429941389 |
|---|---|
| Publisher: | Tor Publishing Group |
| Publication date: | 01/06/2009 |
| Sold by: | Macmillan |
| Format: | eBook |
| Pages: | 352 |
| File size: | 998 KB |
About the Author
Paul Block lives in Albany, New York, where he is executive producer of Timesunion.com, the website of the largest newspaper in the capital region. He is the author of sixteen novels.
Robert Vaughan has authored more than two hundred books in almost every genre.
Paul Block is the author of 15 novels and the former editor-in-chief of Book Creations Inc., a book producer specializing in historical fiction. Block also is a working journalist and photographer. He currently is senior producer of the web site of the Times Union newspaper in Albany, N.Y. Block grew up in Glen Cove, N.Y., and attended the State University of New York at Binghamton and Empire State College. He has two grown children and lives in the Albany area with his wife, Connie.
Robert Vaughan sold his first book when he was 19 years old. That was 50 years, nearly 250 titles, and 20 million books ago. Writing under 35 pseudonyms, he has hit the New York Times and Publishers Weekly bestseller lists twice.
His book Survival (under the pseudonym K.C. McKenna) won the Spur Award for best western novel (1994), The Power and the Pride won the Porgie for best paperback original (1976), and Brandywine's War was named by the Canadian University Symposium of Literature as the best iconoclastic novel to come from the Vietnam War. He was inducted into the Writers' Hall of Fame in 1998.
Read an Excerpt
CHAPTER 1
LOURDES, 1095
THREE INITIATES, BARE from the waist up, lay facedown on the marble floor. At the head of each stood a disciple wielding a flagellum bearing nine cords embedded with bits of sharpened bone.
"Renounce your own will for the salvation of your soul," the Grand Master intoned from his place in the outer circle of two dozen followers. Emblazoned in blood-red on the breasts of their brown hooded cassocks was the symbol of the Sacred Order of Via Dei: a T-shaped cross topped by a circle, within which a blazing sun shot two beams downward to form a pyramid superimposed against the cross.
Grand Master Jean Fournier continued his recitation from The Order of Sanctity, by which all members of Via Dei — the Disciples of the Way — were to conduct their lives.
"Strive everywhere with pure desire to serve the Holy Trinity of Via Dei, the Catholic Church, and Jesus Christ. Feel now the pain of the scourging received by our Lord."
The disciples whipped their flagella against the bare backs of the initiates, leaving red stripes.
"This I will do, so help me God," the initiates responded, their voices strained with pain as they fixed their gaze on the floor, not daring to look up into the eyes of the Grand Master.
"It is a dangerous thing to gaze too long upon the face of a woman," the Grand Master proclaimed. "Avoid the kiss or embrace of a woman lest you be contaminated by the sin of lust. Remain eternally before the face of God with a pure conscience and a sure life."
Again the disciples snapped their whips down hard. The red marks became welts.
"This I will do, so help me God," the initiates repeated as they fought to calm their shuddering bodies.
"Avoid idle words and laughter. There is much sin in any conversation that is not for the glory of the Lord."
The sharpened bone in the flagellum cords tore into flesh, spraying blood on the cassocks of the disciples.
"This I will do, so help me God," the initiates cried out.
"In order to fulfill your holy duties, so that you may gain the glory of the Lord's mercy and escape the torments of hellfire, you must obey the Grand Master of our Sacred Order of Via Dei. Do you swear now, so to do?"
Another brutal lashing punctuated the initiates' response: "I swear always to obey our Grand Master."
"The Sacred Order of Via Dei, the Catholic Church, and our blessed Lord are the trinity that guides our lives, symbolic of the Holy Trinity of Father, Son, and Holy Spirit. You will protect the sanctity of Via Dei by whatever means necessary. There is only one path to salvation, and it is the mission of Via Dei to protect that path. Destroying an enemy of Via Dei is doing the work of the Lord. Do you accept our doctrine?"
Once more the whips flailed, and the initiates cried out, "I accept the doctrine."
"Rise now, Disciples of the Way. Clothe yourselves in the garment of the Sacred Order of Via Dei and greet one another in brotherhood."
The three men struggled to their feet. Despite the pain they were enduring, they appeared rapturous as their sponsors — the very men who had wielded the whips — presented them with the brown cassock of membership.
The circle of disciples broke up and the members began to mingle and congratulate their new brethren, each remembering the joyous day of his own initiation.
As a disciple in his early thirties was embracing one of the new members, he was interrupted by a gruff voice calling his name.
"Philippe Guischard ..."
Turning, the disciple felt a knot of nervousness at seeing the Grand Master looking up at him. Philippe was a tall, muscular fellow, standing a good six inches above the compact and slightly hunched Jean Fournier, yet he felt inconsequential in the older man's presence. His anxiety lessened, however, when he saw the Grand Master's expression was serious but not severe.
"I have a mission for you, Philippe." Fournier grasped the younger man's elbow and led him away from the others, to one of the marble columns that encircled the sanctuary.
"I will obey your instructions with joy in my heart," Philippe answered, his voice a monotone that hid a renewed sense of unease.
"You have shown great promise, Philippe. Because of that, and because of the importance of your family's ties in Rome, we have asked you to serve as our envoy to the Holy See. But now I must ask you to put aside, for a time, that lofty office and undertake a mission of the utmost importance."
Fournier looked around to confirm they were alone, then continued in a hushed voice.
"You will return to Castile, there to deliver a letter. The letter will contain further instructions for you and for the person to whom you shall present it."
"And who is to receive this letter, Grand Master?" "Tobias Garlande."
"My former teacher?" Philippe said in surprise. "But he's a heretic — you told me so when I arrived four years ago from Toledo. It is because of his heresy that you urged me not to return to his service."
"Four years is a long time. It is now the year of our Lord one thousand ninety-five, almost the second century of the second millennium. During your time with us, you have made great progress and shown great inner strength; I no longer fear your becoming contaminated with his heresy."
"Thank you, Grand Master," Philippe said with a slight bow of the head.
"Yes, Tobias Garlande stands with those who believe Trevia Dei refers to three paths to God," Fournier said, adding in a derisive tone, "as if Christian, Jew, and Infidel could ever walk the same path or share the Lord's graces." He shuddered as though he were shaking off evil. "He doesn't accept what we have received through divine revelation — that Trevia Dei is the Holy Trinity and that there is only one path to God and salvation — Via Dei."
"Our new chosen name, so that we may suppress the false doctrine of the Trevia Dei heretics," Philippe replied, and Fournier smiled in approval. "So, the letter is a chastisement?" Philippe asked.
"No," the Grand Master replied. "I believe this letter to be the means by which Brother Tobias can save his eternal soul."
CHAPTER 2
MID-ATLANTIC, PRESENT DAY
FR. MICHAEL FLANNERY jerked awake and shook his head to clear the imagery. A dream or a vision? he wondered as he rubbed his eyes and blinked against the sunlight streaming through the airplane window. He had been having both in increasing numbers and strength, and usually he could tell them apart. This one seemed unreal — almost surreal — with its circle of hooded men and bloody, knotted flagella cords flaying the skin of the initiates' backs. Surely it had been a dream, colored by his ongoing and intensive research of the early days of Via Dei.
"Jean Fournier," he whispered, recalling the name given the grand master. He'd have to look it up when he returned to Rome after his stay in New York. And who is Philippe Guischard? he wondered, not remembering anyone by that name or description in the archives of the Vatican, where he served as a historian and archaeologist.
"You're awake," a voice said, and Flannery turned to the young man in the next seat.
"Why, yes. How long was I out?"
"Ten, fifteen minutes or so."
"Really? It seemed longer."
"Dream time," the young man said cryptically.
Flannery's seat companion was a bespectacled American named David Meyers. They had struck up a conversation in the Rome airport, and by coincidence they wound up together in business class. David had his laptop open and was surfing the Web via the new inflight portal provided by the airline.
David glanced over at the priest. "It's a lot more comfortable up here than in economy, especially for someone as tall as you, don't you think?" "Yes, though I do feel guilty about it."
"Guilt? That's very Catholic of you," David joked. "However, we Jews wrote the book on guilt, though I confess that particular gene seems to have bypassed me."
"I just hope I didn't put anyone out. I booked economy, but somehow it got changed. When I asked, the gate attendant said, 'Perhaps somebody up there likes you.' "
"Divine intervention, eh?" David grinned as he shook his head. "Nothing so supernatural, I'm afraid. Just a few well-placed keystrokes ..." He moved his fingers as if typing on the laptop.
Flannery looked at him curiously.
"I confess my sins, Father. I was enjoying our conversation at the terminal, so I figured why not continue on the plane."
"You did this?" Flannery said incredulously.
"Don't feel guilty; no one was put out. There were still open seats in business, so I gave you an upgrade."
"That explains it," Flannery said, looking a bit relieved. "I didn't realize you work for the airlines."
"I don't. I work off the grid, so to speak." Seeing the priest's look of confusion, he gestured at his laptop. "I'm what some folks call a hacker, Father Flannery. I hacked into their system and issued an upgrade ... the same way I got my roundtrip tickets to Europe. I could've flown first class but didn't want to push my luck. Here in business no one pays me any mind."
Flannery couldn't help but be impressed by the younger man's skills. At forty-seven, Flannery was perhaps twenty years older than David, but he felt ancient when it came to the gap in their computer skills. Still, arranging a free upgrade broke at least the seventh commandment and possibly the eighth, and he felt compelled to offer some advise on morality. But seeing David's sincere, almost innocent expression, he found himself smiling in spite of himself and said only, "I can't offer absolution for a confession like that."
David laughed. "I'm not confessing — I'm bragging. After all, what's the fun of being a Good Samaritan if you can't boast a little?" "So long as it's just a little," Flannery replied. "You know what they say about pride going before a fall."
"Yes, well, I pride myself on my ability to fall and get back up —" He halted in midsentence, his eyes narrowing as he stared at the laptop screen. "Talk about falling ..."
"What is it?" Flannery asked, seeing the genuine concern in his companion's expression.
"A plane." David angled the computer toward Flannery, revealing that he had accessed a private Web page of the Federal Aviation Administration. Lowering his voice, he said, "It went down over the Atlantic a short while ago."
Flannery read a bulletin that gave a sketchy account of an American Global flight that went off radar and was seen plunging into the ocean by a ship in the vicinity.
"No report of trouble, no Mayday, no explosion or flames; it just went down," Flannery said after reading the notice. Running a hand through his thick dark-brown hair, he shook his head. "It doesn't sound like an accident."
"It probably wasn't."
"And bound for New York, like us."
David nodded glumly. "I'd feel a lot better if we were heading somewhere — anywhere — else."
As if in reply, the cabin speaker crackled to life and the captain said in a calm voice, "Ladies and gentlemen, I know how patient you were during our departure delay, which makes it even more difficult to tell you that we've been called back. We are returning to Rome."
There were some gasps of surprise, followed by annoyed murmurs and a few obscenities throughout the cabin.
"I don't know how long we'll be on the ground in Rome," the captain continued. "But as soon as we get everything sorted out, we'll be able to resume our trip. I apologize for this further delay."
"Ah, someone up there heard me," David said.
Flannery tilted his head slightly, taking in the younger man. "You didn't have anything to do with — I mean, the plane returning to Rome ..."
"Me?" David chuckled. "Book a free ticket, upgrade a seat, sure. But issue new flight directives? No way. That's more your guy's department." He nodded toward the heavens.
"Nothing so mysterious, I daresay. It's probably because of that downed plane. I wonder if all flights are being grounded or just those bound for New York."
As the plane banked to the right, a message alert popped up on the laptop, and David muttered, "Oh, no."
"What do you mean, 'Oh, no'?"
"I think someone's hacked into the plane's computer."
"How do you know?"
"I'm on the network; I can see incoming traffic." David shook his head. "This can't be good."
SHELLY PAIGE CARRIED a tray onto the flight deck, and the reserve pilot closed the reinforced cockpit door behind her. The spread of digital readouts across the panel and above the two pilots was both familiar and unfathomable to Shelly, who had been a flight attendant for fifteen years.
"Coffee for Ted and Jerry, tan-colored milk for the captain," she teased, making fun of his affinity for coffee heavily laced with cream and sugar.
Capt. Wayne Poppell glanced over his shoulder. "Any delicacies from first class?" "I brought cheese Danish."
Poppell smiled. "You really know how to treat the flight-deck crew. Give me an older flight attendant over those young ones anytime."
Shelly gasped. "I'm only thirty-seven!"
Copilot Ted Friedman laughed and jabbed the captain's shoulder. "You're so full of couth."
"I didn't mean 'old,' I meant —"
"Best keep quiet, Captain," Friedman cut him off. "You'll only dig yourself deeper. Better safe than sorry."
"Speaking of safe," Shelly interjected, "we have special protection on this flight."
"What kind?" the captain asked.
"Seated three abreast in coach — and this isn't the opening line of a joke — there's a Catholic priest, a Jewish rabbi, and a Muslim imam."
"Side by side and not at each other's throats?" Friedman asked.
"They're quite friendly. I heard them mention some sort of ecumenical conference in New York."
"Christians, Jews, and Muslims ..." the captain mused as he took a swallow of his coffee. "That would be great, but I'm gonna have to see it to believe it."
"I don't know, Captain, look at us," Friedman said. "I'm Jewish, you're a Baptist, and he's ..." He turned to Jerry O'Hearn. "Are you Catholic, Jerry?" "I'm a Republican," the reserve pilot quipped.
The copilot grinned. "See, and we get along."
"Were they upset that we turned back?" Poppell asked.
"No. Some folks were annoyed, but they settled down. Are you gonna tell them about that American Global flight?" "Not unless I'm told to by ground control."
"Any more word on what happened?" Shelly asked.
"A ship saw the plane go down. No explosion or sign of distress; it just plunged into the ocean."
"Could someone else have gotten onto the flight deck?"
"Seems unlikely. But it might be wise to take a look at all the passengers. Call if you see anyone suspicious." He turned back to the controls, then added, "And Shelly, I'm not opening the door again, for any reason."
She nodded. "I understand."
Shelly and the other flight attendants walked the length of the plane, taking in the passengers: a young boy in a St. Louis Rams shirt, a young woman refreshing her makeup, two uniformed soldiers in animated conversation, newlyweds on their honeymoon, an elderly couple returning from their first visit to Tuscany, a number of clerics, perhaps all bound for the same ecumenical conference.
After the other flight attendants reported back, Shelly picked up the cabin phone and informed the captain that no one aroused suspicion. Poppell thanked her, then told the crew, "Shelly says all is copacetic."
"The panel looks good," Ted Friedman said.
Poppell stroked his chin. "Yeah, no need to worry."
Suddenly all the LEDs blinked several times and the panel went black. The left wing dipped, and Poppell put his hands on the wheel to override the autopilot. The wing dipped deeper.
"Kill the autopilot," he said in a calm voice.
Friedman attempted to disengage. "I can't," he said, shaking his head in surprise.
"Either of you have any idea what's going on?" Poppell asked.
"No, sir, not a clue," the copilot replied.
"Captain, what about Satcon?" O'Hearn asked.
"Good idea. Disengage."
"I can't!" Friedman blurted. "It won't disengage."
"Reboot, then," O'Hearn suggested.
"Negative. The computer is locked up. I can't make it do anything."
"What the hell?" Poppell muttered as he worked the controls but didn't get any response. His voice was taut with fear now. "Put out a Mayday! I can't —"
A violent shudder threw the flight crew against the seatbacks, then jerked them forward against their straps. Suddenly the airplane did a complete wingover and plummeted straight down, gaining speed as it plunged into the ocean and disintegrated on impact.
(Continues…)
Excerpted from "Armor of God"
by .
Copyright © 2008 Paul Block and Robert Vaughan.
Excerpted by permission of Tom Doherty Associates.
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