Read Online Exodus: Book Two: Last Days Trilogy by Jacqueline Druga - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Jacqueline Druga
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“Now is the time for humanity to shine, not to be led like animals to the slaughter, to our own extinction. With the help of the people, and the information we have already received, we will find out who is responsible. No one is above suspicion. We’re ready. We’re going at it full-force. And when we find those responsible, I guarantee a swift and harsh punishment. In fact, it has already begun.”
President O’Neill walked away, escorted by security.
CHAPTER NINE
St. Paul’s Cathedral
Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania
Seven o’clock Mass was never a favorite for Father Peter Mahoney. He didn’t usually move well on Sunday morning, as he tended to watch rented movies late on Saturday nights. No organ played and no choir sang when he’d say the first Mass. He didn’t have time for it, and knew those who came to his service that early weren’t up for it either. They, like Father Mahoney, just wanted to get in and out. Back to bed and to sleep was all he thought as he walked back to the altar after communion. He appreciated those celebrants who trickled into his early morning service; they deemed his early Mass the Cliffs Notes of Sunday church.
On this particular Sunday, things were different.
Father Mahoney did expect more than the usual handful in light of the tragic events. But by seven the crowd had swelled so much that he returned to the rectory to awaken Father David. Gazing out at the packed congregation, Father Mahoney couldn’t help but feel a sense of doom in the air, a hopelessness mirrored in the sea of faces.
He felt his flock hungered for words of comfort, but, ill-prepared, all he could do was rattle off his favorite passages and platitudes. What else could he say at a time like this?
“And for that we can only pray.” Father Mahoney lowered his head. “God Bless you.” He stepped back from the pulpit and walked to the center altar. Arms extended, he addressed the saddened faces. “Let’s us stand now and profess our faith.”
The congregation rumbled to their feet, a comforting echo in the church, one that also subdued a foreign banging sound coming from the massive church doors. Fr. Mahoney led them in prayer.
“ I believe in one God, the Father almighty, maker of heaven and earth, of all things visible and invisible. ...”
Then a second, third, then a fourth bang.
“ I believe in one Lord, Jesus Christ, the Only Begotten Son of God, born of the Father before all ages. God from God, Light from Light … ”
Up the aisle of the church came the heavy tromp of boots. Then the shifting of weapons, as a line of soldiers, led by two suited men, walked toward the altar.
“ True God from true God, begotten, not made, consubstantial with the Father ...”
Fr. Mahoney heard his flock stutter momentarily in prayer. “Keep praying,” he ordered defiantly, eyes closed, raising his head to the heavens.
The congregation’s words were laced with fear and hysteria. All eyes were locked on the two-dozen men who had invaded their holy ground.
“ Through him all things were made. For us men and for our salvation he came down from heaven
A suited man, one Special Agent Harris, stepped to the foreground and announced in a strong authoritarian voice, “The following people please step forward.” He looked up at the priest. “Father Peter Mahoney.”
“ By the Holy Spirit was incarnate of the Virgin Mary, and became man .”
“Father David Garfield.”
“ For our sake He was crucified under Pontius Pilate...”
“Michael Albright. Jason Letterman. Robert Haynes. Donald Cross...” Agent Harris called out each name deliberately and clearly.
As he did, four men stepped into the aisles, apprehensive, but still chanting the prayer, their eyes on the priests, who had gathered on the main altar.
Father Mahoney and Father David held their ground.
“Andrew Michaelis and Anthony Hawkins.”
“ He suffered death and was buried. And rose again on the third day in accordance
President O’Neill walked away, escorted by security.
CHAPTER NINE
St. Paul’s Cathedral
Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania
Seven o’clock Mass was never a favorite for Father Peter Mahoney. He didn’t usually move well on Sunday morning, as he tended to watch rented movies late on Saturday nights. No organ played and no choir sang when he’d say the first Mass. He didn’t have time for it, and knew those who came to his service that early weren’t up for it either. They, like Father Mahoney, just wanted to get in and out. Back to bed and to sleep was all he thought as he walked back to the altar after communion. He appreciated those celebrants who trickled into his early morning service; they deemed his early Mass the Cliffs Notes of Sunday church.
On this particular Sunday, things were different.
Father Mahoney did expect more than the usual handful in light of the tragic events. But by seven the crowd had swelled so much that he returned to the rectory to awaken Father David. Gazing out at the packed congregation, Father Mahoney couldn’t help but feel a sense of doom in the air, a hopelessness mirrored in the sea of faces.
He felt his flock hungered for words of comfort, but, ill-prepared, all he could do was rattle off his favorite passages and platitudes. What else could he say at a time like this?
“And for that we can only pray.” Father Mahoney lowered his head. “God Bless you.” He stepped back from the pulpit and walked to the center altar. Arms extended, he addressed the saddened faces. “Let’s us stand now and profess our faith.”
The congregation rumbled to their feet, a comforting echo in the church, one that also subdued a foreign banging sound coming from the massive church doors. Fr. Mahoney led them in prayer.
“ I believe in one God, the Father almighty, maker of heaven and earth, of all things visible and invisible. ...”
Then a second, third, then a fourth bang.
“ I believe in one Lord, Jesus Christ, the Only Begotten Son of God, born of the Father before all ages. God from God, Light from Light … ”
Up the aisle of the church came the heavy tromp of boots. Then the shifting of weapons, as a line of soldiers, led by two suited men, walked toward the altar.
“ True God from true God, begotten, not made, consubstantial with the Father ...”
Fr. Mahoney heard his flock stutter momentarily in prayer. “Keep praying,” he ordered defiantly, eyes closed, raising his head to the heavens.
The congregation’s words were laced with fear and hysteria. All eyes were locked on the two-dozen men who had invaded their holy ground.
“ Through him all things were made. For us men and for our salvation he came down from heaven
A suited man, one Special Agent Harris, stepped to the foreground and announced in a strong authoritarian voice, “The following people please step forward.” He looked up at the priest. “Father Peter Mahoney.”
“ By the Holy Spirit was incarnate of the Virgin Mary, and became man .”
“Father David Garfield.”
“ For our sake He was crucified under Pontius Pilate...”
“Michael Albright. Jason Letterman. Robert Haynes. Donald Cross...” Agent Harris called out each name deliberately and clearly.
As he did, four men stepped into the aisles, apprehensive, but still chanting the prayer, their eyes on the priests, who had gathered on the main altar.
Father Mahoney and Father David held their ground.
“Andrew Michaelis and Anthony Hawkins.”
“ He suffered death and was buried. And rose again on the third day in accordance
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