And Joan had become convinced of the truth. She felt herself to be a messenger of God. Although Bugenhagen had chosen Michael Morgan as his spiritual successor, that choice had come to naught. But Joan had been at their meeting, too. She had heard everything, and she believed that her being there had not been merely a coincidence. Just as there had been a reason for her presence in the café on that sultry afternoon in Acre seven years before, so now there was a mission in her life—to see to it that this new Anti-Christ did not live past his thirteenth birthday. For on that day he would know who he was, and it would become all the more difficult, if not impossible, to destroy him thereafter.

As all the Cassandras of the world had been treated in their time, so Joan was now. No one believed her. Everyone who knew her laughed and said it was just another one of her passing fancies. Those who didn't know her thought she was insane.

And Joan hadn't been so sure of her sanity either—until the week before. She had been assigned to write a special story on the dig at Belvoir Castle, something she had long been waiting for. She had been there when they found the bones of two twentieth-century human males, both of whom she was sure she could identify. She also had gotten a good look at Yigael's Wall.

It was then that she had realized she wasn't mad. It was then that she finally understood and believed. And it was then that she determined to fly to the States to confront Richard Thorn with the truth, and to warn all those who were in the most immediate danger that the Son of the Devil lived right in their midst.

It was not an easy task, but it was one she looked forward to with the rapturous sense of mission that is typical of all true believers.

Chapter Three

CHAPTER THREE

The dining room of the Thorns' Chicago apartment was elegantly handsome with its dark wood paneling and its soft brown leather, chrome and glass furniture. Thorn usually started his day in the light and airy breakfast room adjacent to the kitchen, but as this was a private business breakfast with Buher, he had decided to hold the meeting in the quieter and more formal dining room.

Halfway through their grapefruit, the two men were still discussing topics other than the one for which the meeting had been scheduled.

'And when do you plan to open the exhibit?' asked Buher, pretending a polite interest in Thorn's archaeological hobby. Before Thorn could answer, an impeccably dressed butler entered carrying a silver tray impressive enough to be worthy of bearing the Hope Diamond at least, instead of the soft-boiled eggs in porcelain cups that it actually held.