Is freshman Senator John Peters a prophet, a fraud, neither, both? Peters vaults to worldwide fame and political prominence following his first speech from the Senate floor.  Although he claims to have delivered his speech in English, according to amazed listeners, he could be understood by all who heard him, no matter what their language. Some hail him as a prophet; others call him a fraud; most dismiss the incident as a practical joke. But when the "tongues" phenomenon recurs, several figures, ranging from a political power broker to an archbishop, seek to appropriate the apparent miracles for their own purposes.  Peters downplays any religious significance to the incidents, fearing they will undercut his efforts to be taken seriously as a politician, but exploits his newfound fame by entering his party's race for the Presidential nomination.  Meanwhile, two men following different trains of thought reach an identical conclusion: Senator Peters must die.  Lurking in the background, a centuries old society known as the Order of Mani keeps watch. The Order believes that it alone holds the secret to the Messenger's true purpose, and it is determined to stop it.
                                                 

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.