TAYLOR SAT IN THE BACK OF THE CROWDED CHURCH, WAITING for the ceremony to begin. It was difficult to see through the black veil that obscured her face, and the black linen widow’s dress clung to her as the perspiration rolled down her back. They would begin the consecration soon, and then it would be time for the icons to be brought to the altar. She had to make sure her timing was just right. An older man stopped at her pew, and she bit back her frustration when he waved his hand for her to move over so he could take the seat next to her. Stepping into the aisle, she indicated that he should go in, and he gave her a sour look but complied. She needed to be on the outside for what was to come.
The smell of incense filled the small church as the priest moved the censer back and forth, chanting in Greek. On the altar stood the archbishop, surrounded by two bishops and two priests, all in their best vestments. From the corner of her eye, Taylor saw Father Basil walking toward the altar, holding the icons. She slid out of the pew and walked down the aisle toward him.
“Kyrie eleison,” she said, running up and kissing the icon on the top.
“Please, take your seat,” he said, looking around, embarrassed. The church grew silent.
“Sorry!” She pretended to fall into him, pushing him off balance, and making him drop the icons. A collective gasp filled the church and she sank to her knees, helping to retrieve the icons.
“What are you doing?” Father Basil yelled. “Be careful.”
Before he could react, Taylor grabbed all four icons and pulled the pin from the smoke bomb she’d brought, throwing it behind her. She pulled a mask up from under her veil. Seconds later, the church was filled with white smoke and she ran outside and around the corner to the waiting rental car.
* * *
Two hours later, Taylor pulled off the highway to a small motel, paid cash, and went to her room.
After pulling out her new phone, she went to the original email chain about the coins, which she had forwarded to her new email address. She typed.
I have the last ten. Give me my son back and you can have them.
A minute later, her email pinged with a response. I’ve been waiting for your email.