The Ambassador's name was Robert Thorn,' he said. 'When his wife lost a baby in a hospital in Rome, he took a newborn child at the urging of a man who was posing as a priest, but who was, in fact, an Apostle of the Beast. Thorn gave the child to his wife before she knew her own had died, leading her to believe it was her own. They loved the child and brought it up in London—not knowing it was born of a jackal!' Bugenhagen paused to swallow before going on. 'Soon it began to destroy all those who awakened to its true nature, and Thorn came to me for help. I listened to his story and knew instantly that he spoke the truth, for I had long been receiving signs that I would one day be the one who would have to act. I gave Thorn the seven ancient daggers that are the necessary weapons to drive through the Devil's heart. By then, Thorn's wife was dead, as were two other poor souls who had learned the truth.' Bugenhagen bowed his head. 'Before Thorn could pierce the foul heart of his Devil-son, the police killed him, thinking he was mad from grief following the death of his wife!' Bugenhagen then paused to point to the photograph again. This was the one thing he wanted Morgan to comprehend and to act upon: ‘The child still lives!'

After a very long time, Morgan asked, 'Where is he now?'

'In America,' answered Bugenhagen, 'living with his uncle, his father's brother. Where, as it is written, "His power shall be mighty; and he shall destroy wonderfully, and shall prosper, and practice, and destroy the mighty and the holy."’

Joan Hart, ever the journalist, was beside herself. 'Oh, Michael,' she said, 'let's go to America!'

'Shut up!' Michael told her. This was no mere newspaper scoop. If anything that Bugenhagen had just said was true, this was nothing to take lightly.

Bugenhagen reached down at his feet and picked up a wonderfully intricate old leather pouch fitted out with several pockets and many straps and buckles. It clanked as he placed it on the table.

'You must take this to the boy's new parents,' he said. 'Inside are the daggers, as well as a letter explaining everything.'

Morgan thought about what Bugenhagen wanted him to do. It was one thing to hear the story from someone who was convinced of the facts and to be moved by the power of his delivery; it was quite another thing to spread the story yourself.

'I'm sorry, Carl,' he said, shaking his head. You can't expect me to just...'