DAMON HAD BEEN CHECKING HIS EMAIL EVERY TEN MINUTES. He was hopeful that these were the authentic Judas coins. He asked for a picture, and in the one the seller sent they looked real, but so had the fake ones he’d had in his possession for nearly two years without knowing it. If they were the real thing, though, five million was a pittance. He found it incredible that these men of the cloth were so ignorant of their true power. Any member of the clergy should have been warned that the coins were dangerous in the wrong hands, yet they betrayed their own faith for a few dollars. How would they defend themselves on Judgment Day? he wondered. Now he was waiting for a time and a place to be confirmed but after hours had passed with no response, he finally turned in.
The next morning the first thing he did was go to his laptop. His heart began to race.
St. Catherine’s Church in Astoria. Come alone. Midnight. Don’t be late. Have other interested parties.
So the good father was going to make the trade at a church in his own town. Perhaps the man should change his name to Judas. Damon clicked reply and confirmed the meeting. He went to the safe, counted out the money, and put it in a leather satchel. If this priest brought the real silver pieces, he’d finally have twenty, and they would call out to the other ten. And soon, after a little over two thousand years, they’d be united again—and the destruction would begin.
If people thought things were bad now, they hadn’t seen anything yet.