Excerpt
Venice, 1605 AD

His eyes, large and unnaturally black, fixed on the solitary figure moving like a shadow through the foggy courtyard. Rainwater spilled over the side of a clogged gutter and dripped on his head, but he did not move. “From shadow to ghost,” he whispered.
A soft chirping sound drew his gaze; a bat had perched incongruously on the lip of the courtyard’s ornamental fountain. It distracted him for only a moment as a muffled cry broke from the man he had been watching. A second shadow had joined him. A glint of steel flashed through the mist just before the two grappled and fell. Only the second man rose. The Messenger had been silenced.
The man retreated down the alley from which he had watched the assassin earn his pay and headed toward the Grand Canal. From there, a boat would take him to the mainland and a waiting carriage. If he pushed hard enough, he would reach Florence by dawn. He would follow the river to the sea, make the crossing to Corsica and deliver the news to the Master. Afterward, he hoped, he would return to his life in London.
He saw no reason for the Master to prohibit his return. If the lessons of history held true, there would not be another Messenger for decades, perhaps longer, so it would fall to another to ensure the Order of Mani’s preservation. The Order had existed for over a thousand years, exerting influence from the shadows of power. Not even he, who had been chosen for this singularly important mission, whose intensely black eyes attested to the depths of his initiation, knew the full extent of the Order’s reach, or even the Master’s true identity.
The Messengers threatened to end it all. He wasn’t sure why or how, but the Master had said it was so, and that was enough for him. According to the Master, the Order had kept watch over the centuries, and in every instance, had successfully interceded before the Messengers could do their work, before their venom could poison the world.
He took great pride in having been chosen for this mission, and even greater pride in having accomplished it. The Master would be quite pleased.

From the Back Cover

Miracles on the Senate Floor?
(The Washington Gazette, October 15)
Do you believe in miracles?
Not the U.S. Hockey team, garden-variety, once-in-a-century sports upset, but the hair-raising, water-into-wine, this can’t be happening kind?
If you don’t, you soon may.
Freshman Senator John Peters, a soft-spoken man from the hills of North Carolina, walked into a nearly empty Senate chamber yesterday morning to give his first speech. The topic, income tax reform, was hardly heavenly. But the way he delivered it? – God only knows.
According to his office, Senator Peters delivered his speech in English. According to his office, English is the only language Senator Peters speaks.
But according to hundreds of amazed people from around the world, he gave his speech in every language in the world, all at the same time.
Many would consider the ability to clearly explain tax reform to even one non-tax person a pretty miraculous accomplishment. But when people who speak Kurdish, Swedish, French, Chinese and Russian all claim to have understood Senator Peters, it’s Cecil B. DeMille time.
Some claim it’s all just a hoax. A great practical joke made possible by clever software programs and the Internet.
Some claim it’s clever politics designed to make Senator Peters a national figure.
Some believe he is the Second Coming.
As for me, my parents named me Thomas.