"Go to the town of Meggido," entreated Tassone. "In the old city of Jezreel. There see the old man Bugenhagen. He alone can describe how the child must die."

"Look here ..."

"He who will not be saved by the Lamb will be torn by the Beast!"

"Stop it!"

Tassone fell silent, his posture sagging as he raised a trembling hand to wipe perspiration that had accumulated on his brow.

Tm here," said Thorn quietly, "because you said my wife was in dancer."

"I had a vision, Mr. Thorn."

"You said my wife . . ."

"She is pregnant!"

Thorn was stopped, taken aback.

"You're mistaken."

"I believe she is pregnant."

"She's not."

"He will not allow the child to be born. He will kill it while it slumbers in the womb."

The priest groaned, struck again by violent pain.

"What are you talking about?" asked Thorn under his breath.

"Your son, Mr. Thorn! The son of Satan\ He will kill the unborn child and then he will kill your wife! And when he is certain to inherit all that is yours, then, Mr. Thorn, he will kill youl"

"That's enough!"

". . . And with your wealth and power he will establish his counterfeit Kingdom here on earth, receiving his orders directly from Satan."

"You're insane," hissed Thorn.

"He must wife, Mr. Thorn!"

The priest gasped and a tear slipped from his eye; Thorn gazed down at him, unable to move.

"Please, Mr. Thorn . . ." the priest wept.

"You asked for five minutes . . ."

"Go to the city of Meggido," Tassone begged. "See Bueenhagen before it's too late!"

Thorn shook his head, pointing a trembling finger at the priest.

"I've heard you, now . . ." he warned. "I want you to hear me. If I ever see you again . . . Til have you arrested."

Turning on his heel, he began to move away, Tassone calling after him through his tears.

"You'll see me in Hell, Mr. Thorn. There we will share our sentence!"

In a moment, Thorn was gone; Tassone was left alone, his head in his hands. He remained there for several minutes, trying to stop the tears. But they would not stop. It was over and he had failed.

Rising slowly, he gazed about the park. It was empty now and quiet; the stillness was somehow ominous. It was as though he stood in a vacuum, the very air holding its breath. Then, faintly, he began to hear the sound. It was distant at first, almost subliminal, gradually growing in intensity until it filled the atmosphere around him. It was the sound of the OHM, and as it continued to rise, Tassone gripped his crucifix, his breath coming short as he gazed fearfully about the park. The sky was darkening and a breeze began to rise, quickly gaining momentum until the tree limbs shook with anger.