Read Online Walking in the Midst of Fire by Thomas E. Sniegoski - Free Book Online Page A

employ of the Keepers, even though most are totally unaware that the data they provide is being collected, compared, and contrasted. The name Remy Chandler has popped up a number of times in connection to some of the more unusual data that was being reviewed.”
    Remy poured his company a cup of coffee.
    “And the more bizarreness that occurred in this region . . .” He brought the mug over to his guest. “Do you use sugar? I don’t have any milk, but I might have some powdered creamer if . . .”
    “Black is fine,” Malatesta said, taking the offered mug. “Thank you.”
    He brought the edge of the mug to his mouth and sipped.
    “More bizarreness in a particular corner of the world would cause us to focus our attentions, and narrow said focus on certain locations . . .”
    “Or people,” Remy finished, bringing his own cup of coffee back to his desk, careful not to spill it as he sat down.
    “Or people,” Malatesta agreed, having some more of his steaming drink. “Your name quickly moved to the top of our list.”
    “Lucky me,” Remy said.
    The Vatican representative chuckled. “We were very discreet in our interview process,” he said.
    “Who else did you talk to beside Detective Mulvehill?”
    Malatesta was bringing the mug up to his lips. “Some former clients who all spoke very highly of you . . . if they spoke at all.”
    Remy cocked his head, confused by the statement.
    “Some of those we talked to would give us only the basic information, as if they were somehow protecting you . . . protecting your secret.”
    “Most don’t even know that I have one,” Remy said, taking a sip of his coffee. “It’s something that I work on.”
    “I can imagine it would be complex,” Malatesta acknowledged. “You said most . . . . There are some who . . .”
    “Very few.”
    “Detective Mulvehill?”
    “Let me guess. He got all squirrelly when you started asking about me.”
    “Squirrelly,” Malatesta repeated and laughed. “Yes.” He drained his coffee and leaned forward to set the mug on the edge of the desk.
    “Want another cup?” Remy asked. “I’ve got a whole pot.”
    “No, thank you,” Malatesta said. “I’m trying to limit my caffeine, and I’m afraid to say that cup has put me over my allotted amount.”
    “No worries,” Remy answered, as he stood and headed for the pot. “More for me.”
    “So, now that I know how you found me, Mr. Malatesta,” he said, filling his mug, “why don’t you tell me what I can do for you?”
    “Not for me per se, Mr. Chandler,” Malatesta answered. “It is what you can do for a changing world.”
    Remy chose to stand, steaming cup of coffee in hand.
    “And what, I’m afraid to ask, is that?”
    “The Keepers of the Vatican wish you to work for them, Remy Chandler.”
    Remy thought about this for a moment before bringing his mug up to his mouth. “I worked for the Vatican once, a long time ago,” he said, taking a sip of the hot liquid, reveling in the scalding sensation as it burned his lips and tongue. “Let’s just say it didn’t turn out so well.”
    England
1349
    “Do you eat?”
    Pope Tyranus did not rise from the head of the vast banquet table as Remiel was led into the dining hall by the soldiers of the Vatican.
    The table was covered with all forms of repast: roasted chickens, quail, a wild boar the size of a small child, and bowls of peas, carrots, and potatoes. There was enough to feed a small village laid out before the holy man.
    “Would you prefer that I speak in Latin?” the Pope asked in the tongue of the Church, seemingly impatient with the lack of immediate response. “Or perhaps Italian?”
    Remiel fixed the old man in an icy stare. “Occasionally I indulge,” he replied to the first question. “But it is not necessary for my survival.”
    “Then, will you do me the honor of indulging me?”
    The old man gestured for him to take a seat at the corner, by his side. Remiel noticed the jewelry