Vox was silent as he picked lint off his pajama bottoms, letting the clock burn. Letting Belloq imagine the torment that “Verrecchia” must be experiencing because of the consequences of this action. Many people would die. Thousands of them. Men, women, and even children. No one could be spared. It was the only way to protect the world from the vampire uprising.

Although he kept his voice grave, Vox was smiling as he said, “Let God’s will be done.”

He disconnected and tossed the phone on the bed.

The sickness in his stomach was still there, but Vox realized that the trembling in his legs and arms was less. Much less. Even though the side effects hit him sooner and harder with each treatment of Upier 531, there was no doubt at all that they were wearing off sooner. He rolled up his sleeve and peeled off the bandage to examine the puncture marks.

There were none.

Vox pulled open his robe and pulled up his vomit-stained undershirt.

This time his gasp was genuine.

The big puncture wounds from the horse needles Dr. Hasbrouck used on him were …

Well, shit, he thought. They were gone.

No. That wasn’t the right way to think of it, he realized with a new and dark delight.

They were healed.

He closed his eyes.

The treatments were working.

And with a jolt he realized that he hadn’t had a coughing fit all day.

Hugo Vox smiled. If Father Belloq had been there to see that smile, the Sabbatarian would have screamed and grabbed for a hammer and a stake.

Chapter Seventy-one

Chapter Seventy-One

The Hangar

Floyd Bennett Field, Brooklyn

June 15, 10:25 a.m. EST

Church’s phone rang and he saw that it was Lilith again. He answered.

“Have you had a chance to look at the contents of the flash drive?” he asked.

“Yes.”

“Your opinion?”

“It’s contrived.”

“That was Circe’s take.”

Lilith paused. “How is Circe?”

“She’s well,” said Church coldly, “but she is not a topic of conversation.”

“You are a difficult person to like,” she said.

“Many have said the same about you.”

Neither of them spoke for a few seconds, and in that silence much was said.

Eventually Lilith returned to Church’s original question. “Rasouli is feeding the Red Order to you.”

“So it seems,” agreed Church, “though I still don’t know what the Red Order is. Not in full. I suspect you do.”

“Actually,” she said, “I don’t. I know how they operate, I know some of the players, but there is something called the Holy Agreement, and I would give a lot to know what’s in it. We believe that the Agreement was drafted and signed by Sir Guy LaRoque, the first Scriptor of the Red Order, and his counterpart, Ibrahim al-Asiri, who was, in turn, the first Murshid.”

“Surely you have a guess about its content.”