Suspense, 336 pages
Cover art by Pat Evans
Original design by DB Dakota
Blurb:
The customs computer earmarks the construction man for deportation and officials do not specify why. But the stockade’s padre reveals a shortage of job openings for immigrant builders. To fix the immigration crisis will the US deport its own citizen constructors, to make room for Mexico’s?
“It doesn’t matter who, just reduce the number of bodies competing for jobs. You are just another body in the way. Everyone knows this, why don’t you know this? You of all people.”
Excerpt:
“All right, why does it take two indeed? I must spare Alita. I
cannot cause her to kill.”
If she can do it, I can do it. I must assassinate Nilov. Myself! For the Church—and take my chances on Hell. It is His Church and it must be saved. It is alive in Mexico but the Azers will destroy it. They must be stopped!
But now the worry of QC taking Nilov’s place, QC or any of the other resilient ex-Reds down there by the pool fawning over the concierge Hada, teaching her a new tongue she believes to be Slavic. Their Persian is spreading through the hills already, where the rejuvenated KGB-trained mullahs hold forth, rounding up peons for Cabeza’s shepherds. They distribute Korans printed in Spanish with dollar bills between the pages. Guard this book with your life, the peons are told, for in your new world ahead a solemn revelation awaits: The ancestor of Jesus and the ancestor of Mohammed, they were the same. In America you will be closer to God. Does that bother Cabeza? No, he has his own Cabeza religion. Like Nilov, they do not care.
If not QC or any of his kind already here on the rancho, what’s to prevent new waves of rial-rublemen from replacing Nilov once he is dead? And there would be, one Muslim right after another. What is a mere Nilov to Azers? Baku is well aware of the welcome mat at the rancho. They will keep sending more Nilovs bearing gifts of anointed gold for Cabeza-Matias. Already he has traveled to the Caucasus to accept the toasts of the ayatollahs, and was a hit like no other.
“Can it be, Dear Judge and Maker of all that is, that I must now think the unthinkable? Must it be Matias instead? Must it be Matias who goes?” Tell me no, tell me no!
“And who, Dear God, would for any reward, for any price, put the old padre in his grave? Is there a single living soul who would do such a deed—other than me? Please, Father, please!”
As long as there is a Cabeza with his hand out for the rial, there will rials and rubles for the asking. And certain takeover of Mexico. Certain devastation of the Church.
Yet if there is no Matias there will be no cause—and the cause must go on. Does it take his personality to run things, his skill, his delicate hand? Is it necessary to have him? Can I do it?
Can I take life, the very life, of another man?
If she can do it, I can do it. I must assassinate Nilov. Myself! For the Church—and take my chances on Hell. It is His Church and it must be saved. It is alive in Mexico but the Azers will destroy it. They must be stopped!
But now the worry of QC taking Nilov’s place, QC or any of the other resilient ex-Reds down there by the pool fawning over the concierge Hada, teaching her a new tongue she believes to be Slavic. Their Persian is spreading through the hills already, where the rejuvenated KGB-trained mullahs hold forth, rounding up peons for Cabeza’s shepherds. They distribute Korans printed in Spanish with dollar bills between the pages. Guard this book with your life, the peons are told, for in your new world ahead a solemn revelation awaits: The ancestor of Jesus and the ancestor of Mohammed, they were the same. In America you will be closer to God. Does that bother Cabeza? No, he has his own Cabeza religion. Like Nilov, they do not care.
If not QC or any of his kind already here on the rancho, what’s to prevent new waves of rial-rublemen from replacing Nilov once he is dead? And there would be, one Muslim right after another. What is a mere Nilov to Azers? Baku is well aware of the welcome mat at the rancho. They will keep sending more Nilovs bearing gifts of anointed gold for Cabeza-Matias. Already he has traveled to the Caucasus to accept the toasts of the ayatollahs, and was a hit like no other.
“Can it be, Dear Judge and Maker of all that is, that I must now think the unthinkable? Must it be Matias instead? Must it be Matias who goes?” Tell me no, tell me no!
“And who, Dear God, would for any reward, for any price, put the old padre in his grave? Is there a single living soul who would do such a deed—other than me? Please, Father, please!”
As long as there is a Cabeza with his hand out for the rial, there will rials and rubles for the asking. And certain takeover of Mexico. Certain devastation of the Church.
Yet if there is no Matias there will be no cause—and the cause must go on. Does it take his personality to run things, his skill, his delicate hand? Is it necessary to have him? Can I do it?
Can I take life, the very life, of another man?
There are certainly enough advisors here, not counting the Azer
connection, to carry on, to help me when Matias is gone. We must make sure the
starving and helpless cross the Rio, the fence. They will die in their tracks
if we don’t—and wither the Church by default.
But the Church must multiply in America. The work Cabeza has started—the smugglers, the monastery, the cruise lines and buses, the Greek’s fishing fleet, the ID cooks and their studio-stores, the computer invasion… All must all go forward.
But can these enterprises succeed if he is no longer around to guide them? They must. A way must be found.
Matias’ sun is setting—consider this: He doesn’t even have a parish now, since I took over St. Silverius. He cannot be relieved of any post; he has no post. Someone will always be found to hold services on the compound.
Matias is a renegade Catholic now, a mercenary, and nothing more—as far as the Church is concerned. He’s now ex-priest status in collusion with a treacherous virus… heresy, gnawing away at his miracle soon to devour him too when his railroad is taken over by the Azer outlaws.
Vatican support and lira could be withdrawn but he’d merely hold out both hands for the Azers to fill, accelerating the exodus—which would delight Cabeza—but Islamize the Latinos.
Does that mean Latins have no free will as to their religious choice? Or no religion at all? Afraid so. Their culture has both deism and theism built into it. The alternative is risky and why we war.
There is no choice: Cabeza Matias must be replaced—with haste. We must install someone who refuses to drink from the heresy fountain.
Who can be trusted to reject their subsidy? Am I the only one? Again, must it be me who takes his place? Who else on this planet will take it upon himself to dam the tide of tainted capital and send the Azers packing?
But the Church must multiply in America. The work Cabeza has started—the smugglers, the monastery, the cruise lines and buses, the Greek’s fishing fleet, the ID cooks and their studio-stores, the computer invasion… All must all go forward.
But can these enterprises succeed if he is no longer around to guide them? They must. A way must be found.
Matias’ sun is setting—consider this: He doesn’t even have a parish now, since I took over St. Silverius. He cannot be relieved of any post; he has no post. Someone will always be found to hold services on the compound.
Matias is a renegade Catholic now, a mercenary, and nothing more—as far as the Church is concerned. He’s now ex-priest status in collusion with a treacherous virus… heresy, gnawing away at his miracle soon to devour him too when his railroad is taken over by the Azer outlaws.
Vatican support and lira could be withdrawn but he’d merely hold out both hands for the Azers to fill, accelerating the exodus—which would delight Cabeza—but Islamize the Latinos.
Does that mean Latins have no free will as to their religious choice? Or no religion at all? Afraid so. Their culture has both deism and theism built into it. The alternative is risky and why we war.
There is no choice: Cabeza Matias must be replaced—with haste. We must install someone who refuses to drink from the heresy fountain.
Who can be trusted to reject their subsidy? Am I the only one? Again, must it be me who takes his place? Who else on this planet will take it upon himself to dam the tide of tainted capital and send the Azers packing?
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