In a rubbish-strewn alley very close to Temple Church, Rémy Legaludec pulled the Jaguarlimousine to a stop behind a row of industrial waste bins. Killing the engine, he checked the area.

　　Deserted. He got out of the car, walked toward the rear, and climbed back into the limousine's maincabin where the monk was.

　　Sensing Rémy's presence, the monk in the back emerged from a prayer-like trance, his red eyeslooking more curious than fearful. All evening Rémy had been impressed with this trussed man'sability to stay calm. After some initial struggles in the Range Rover, the monk seemed to haveaccepted his plight and given over his fate to a higher power.

　　Loosening his bow tie, Rémy unbuttoned his high, starched, wing-tipped collar and felt as if hecould breathe for the first time in years. He went to the limousine's wet bar, where he pouredhimself a Smirnoff vodka. He drank it in a single swallow and followed it with a second.

　　Soon I will be a man of leisure.

　　Searching the bar, Rémy found a standard service wine-opener and flicked open the sharp blade.

　　The knife was usually employed to slice the lead foil from corks on fine bottles of wine, but itwould serve a far more dramatic purpose this morning. Rémy turned and faced Silas, holding upthe glimmering blade.

　　Now those red eyes flashed fear.

　　Rémy smiled and moved toward the back of the limousine. The monk recoiled, struggling againsthis bonds.

　　"Be still," Rémy whispered, raising the blade.

　　Silas could not believe that God had forsaken him. Even the physical pain of being bound Silas hadturned into a spiritual exercise, asking the throb of his blood-starved muscles to remind him of thepain Christ endured. I have been praying all night for liberation. Now, as the knife descended,Silas clenched his eyes shut.

　　A slash of pain tore through his shoulder blades. He cried out, unable to believe he was going todie here in the back of this limousine, unable to defend himself. I was doing God's work. TheTeacher said he would protect me.

　　Silas felt the biting warmth spreading across his back and shoulders and could picture his ownblood, spilling out over his flesh. A piercing pain cut through his thighs now, and he felt the onsetof that familiar undertow of disorientation—the body's defense mechanism against the pain.

　　As the biting heat tore through all of his muscles now, Silas clenched his eyes tighter, determinedthat the final image of his life would not be of his own killer. Instead he pictured a younger BishopAringarosa, standing before the small church in Spain... the church that he and Silas had built withtheir own hands. The beginning of my life.

　　Silas felt as if his body were on fire.

　　"Take a drink," the tuxedoed man whispered, his accent French. "It will help with yourcirculation."Silas's eyes flew open in surprise. A blurry image was leaning over him, offering a glass of liquid.

　　A mound of shredded duct tape lay on the floor beside the bloodless knife.

　　"Drink this," he repeated. "The pain you feel is the blood rushing into your muscles."Silas felt the fiery throb transforming now to a prickling sting. The vodka tasted terrible, but hedrank it, feeling grateful. Fate had dealt Silas a healthy share of bad luck tonight, but God hadsolved it all with one miraculous twist.

　　God has not forsaken me.

　　Silas knew what Bishop Aringarosa would call it.

　　Divine intervention.

　　"I had wanted to free you earlier," the servant apologized, "but it was impossible. With the policearriving at Chateau Villette, and then at Biggin Hill airport, this was the first possible moment. Youunderstand, don't you, Silas?"Silas recoiled, startled. "You know my name?"The servant smiled.

　　Silas sat up now, rubbing his stiff muscles, his emotions a torrent of incredulity, appreciation, andconfusion. "Are you... the Teacher?"Rémy shook his head, laughing at the proposition. "I wish I had that kind of power. No, I am notthe Teacher. Like yo............