April 1, 2016
Taos, New Mexico

Pete was still full of energy and dashed off to his lab, leaving Ramsey in the living room of his cabin. He was alone. Earlier a handsome, middle-aged man had showed up at Pete’s front door, saying his name was Sam Conklin and that he had come to take Myriam to Beecher. But the day’s revelations had caught up with Ramsey and all he wanted to do was lay back and relax, going over what had happened. He settled on the couch with another glass of Courvoisier Cognac.

It had been a madhouse just a half an hour earlier before Pete had left. Myriam had spoken to Hiram, and though her anguish had vanished, it was now replaced by a somber confusion. Turning to Ramsey, she had said, “Hiram told me to tell you your job is done. You’ll be paid in full. He said Adam has been found. I don’t understand what he means by that, but if you’re interested I’ll tell you once I know more.”

Pete’s brow furrowed and he ran his fingers through his red hair. “Just like that . . . we’re done, finito, over and out.”

Myriam had said. “Hiram has a different message for you. He’s greatly relieved you got out safely and says for you to be very careful how you proceed with the South Africans, even if Haas and his men don’t make it out.”

The lines in Pete’s forehead deepened. Then his eyes flashed with understanding, “I have to go work on some stuff. Make yourselves comfortable.” He dashed for the lab and Ramsey heard the click of the lock being thrown.

Myriam said, “Actually I won’t be staying. Hiram said somebody’s on the way to get me. Turns out he’s nearby.”

“Are you sure you want to see Hiram?” Ramsey asked.

Myriam nodded. “He has a lot of explaining to do but needs to do it face to face alone with just me. Do you suppose Pete has anything to drink here?”

Ramsey was going to say, “Of course . . . it’s Pete.” Then he recalled his old friend had stopped drinking. “I’ll look.” He found the Courvoisier Cognac kept for guests and poured them stiff shots in a pair of coffee mugs.

Myriam smiled and tipped her glass to Ramsey. “Pete always had class.”

“I have a lot of questions,” Ramsey said.

“I supposed you would.”

“First, I don’t think I’m done with this.”

“I don’t think you are either. It might just be the beginning.”

“There’s something I’ve been wanting to ask you. You never mentioned any healing experience of your own.”

“I never had one, unless you count this odd dream I had a few months ago where a man I thought could have been Adam appeared as Christ.”

“Why do you think that is? That you never had an experience of healing energy?”

“I really don’t know, but I saw all the good it did for other people, and that was enough.”

“You know this Adam shrine thing is really about a big change occurring in the world.” He twirled the Cognac in the glass, smelled the fragrant bouquet. “Are you a Gnostic?”

Myriam’s eyebrows knitted together. “What are you talking about? That Christian sect was wiped out by the Catholics 1800 years ago.”

Ramsey smiled. “There’s a twenty-first century group of people, calling themselves the New Gnostics. They’ve been influenced by the Milagro Shrine and are building something global in nature. I believe they are creating a new religion. I think it all revolves around Adam and his healing capabilities.”

Ramsey pulled out his phone and punched the link to the New Gnostic website. He handed it to Myriam.

“I know nothing about this.”

“That’s hard to believe, you being so involved in the management of the shrine.”

“Considering our history, I don’t see any reason you should trust me, but it’s true.”

Before Ramsey could reply, Conklin had knocked. She was out the door moments later. The last thing she had said was, “I’ll get back to you.”

Ramsey settled back in his chair. Pete’s living room was eerily quiet as though someone had gone to great lengths to give Ramsey all the privacy he needed. He couldn’t help but notice the exaggerated limp in Myriam’s step as she rushed out the door. It reminded him of the early stages of Parkinson’s. He took a sip of the cognac. He hoped Myriam did not have the disease that had devastated his mother.

He took another sip of the cognac. The warmth filling his body demanded that he sleep. For the moment he was relieved to think he could be done with the shrine and Adam Gwillt. But he knew this was just his fatigue speaking. The whole question of Adam and his relationship to the New Gnostics gnawed at him. There’s more happening here than Beecher or Myriam or the South Africans suspect, Ramsey told himself. It’s like the proverbial tip of the iceberg. But he was too tired to go any deeper at this point.

“I need a good night’s sleep,” he said aloud with a yawn.

Then the smart phone in his pocket buzzed. It was a text message. The header read, “Unavailable.” He opened it. “Adam awaits you.”