“What about my fish?”

“We’ll call Jason from the road.”

“My dad will be worried.”

“We’ll call him, too.”

“I don’t know…”

“Andy, be spontaneous for once.”

Outside, three sedans parked in a fire zone. Agents bounded up library steps.

“This is crazy,” said Andy. “I should have my head examined.”

“Now you’re talking!”

An elevator opened on the ground floor. Agents rushed inside. The doors closed as the next elevator opened and four students got out.

“This is going to be wicked excellent!”

PANAMA CITY BEACH

Coleman was down for the count, leaving Serge on solo night patrol. He reached a bend in the sidewalk and focused his camcorder on three cheerful youths waving homemade posters.

“Oooooooh,” Serge said with delight, lowering his camera. “Free pancakes!”

He walked over.

“Howdy! I’m Serge!”

“Hi, Serge. Want a free pancake breakfast?”

“But it’s night.”

“That’s when all the kids eat breakfast. Soaks up alcohol.”

“What’s the catch?”

“There is no catch.”

“There’s always a catch.”

“Why don’t you come inside with us?”

Serge followed and was soon seated in a church activities room. On the table in front of him: the largest pile of pancakes the volunteer group had ever seen anyone assemble.

Three sparkling kids pulled out chairs and joined him. They didn’t have pancakes.

Serge, chewing: “Great breakfast. Deeeeeeeeelicious!”

“It’s Serge, right?”

He nodded and stuck a fork in his mouth.

“Serge, have you ever heard of the one true living God?”

“Of course,” said Serge. “He’s like a household name.”

“Are you saved?”

“That’s a long story.”

They handed him inspirational pamphlets.

Serge smiled. “Knew there was a catch.”

“No catch. It’s the path to redemption.”

“Fair enough,” said Serge, setting his fork on the plate. He leaned back and folded his arms. “You gave me a great meal, I can at least listen. But if this turns into a time-share thing, I can’t guarantee your safety.”

“It’s not.”

“Then give me your best shot.”

The trio took turns effervescently sharing the marvelous change in their lives. A pastor circulated through the room, hands clasped behind his back. He smiled at the youths around Serge’s table doing the Lord’s work. The kids finished their pitch.

“Impressive,” said Serge. “Sounds like you got quite a program there. Unfortunately, no sale. I already have my own program.”

“You belong to a religion?”

Serge returned to his food. “Absolutely.”

“Which denomination?”

“My own.”

“What do you mean your own?”

“So far I’m the only member. But it cuts printing costs for the monthly bulletin.”

“Your religion can’t have just one member.”

“Why not?”

“It’s… you just can’t.”

“Every religion started with only one person.” Pouring syrup. “Even yours.”

“No, it didn’t-”

One of the others nudged his friend and whispered, “Actually, it did.” He turned to Serge. “So what is your religion?”

“Well,” said Serge, digging in his fork again, “it’s an awful lot like yours, except with massive confusion.”

“Confusion?”

“I question everything. And I’m still totally baffled. Which only makes my faith stronger-God’s so incredible, he’s beyond comprehension!”

“You’re devoutly baffled?”

“All questions, all the time! And as the lack of answers mounts, the infiniteness of the Almighty swells in my soul. People who claim to know his every last thought in order to bully others are just shortchanging his omnipotence. Like politicians who say, ‘Pay no attention to our performance on the economy. Look! Over there! Gay people are trying to get married! ’”

“But homosexuality is a sin against God. Says so in the Bible.”

“That’s what I thought, too,” said Serge. “But it just didn’t jibe. So I took another look at Genesis…”

“You know Genesis?”

“And Nehemiah, Ezra, Proverbs, Lamentations-one of my favorites, hilarious subtext, but I can’t read it on airplanes, where people get upset with laughing fits. The whole book’s a classic.”

“You read the whole Bible?”

“Couple times. And you know how in Genesis, Lot’s the only good guy in the twin cities, Sodom and Gomorrah. These two male angels come to stay with him. Apparently they’re lookers. Think Matt Damon and Ben Affleck in Dogma. And these people from his street bang on Lot’s door, wanting him to let the houseguests out so they can have gay sex. Now Lot’s always been an accommodating neighbor, but this ain’t no potluck dinner. They argue back and forth, going nowhere. So, finally, in an attempt to show that sex with girls is much more fun and convert them to heterosexuality, Lot offers to turn over his two underage, virgin daughters for gang rape.”

“It doesn’t say that!”

“Let me see your Bible.” Serge executed a perfect sword drill, finding chapter nineteen in seconds. He turned the book around, slid it back across the table and tapped verse eight.

Three youths crowded over the page. “It does say that. But how can it be?”

“Because God blessed us with curiosity. Read it with an open mind and you realize it’s actually a brilliant satire on homophobia. Think as an individual: The Lord doesn’t want a train pulled on little kids. It’s like reading Swift’s Modest Proposal and thinking he really wants to eat babies. What the Bible’s trying to say is we’re all his children. But if you take Lot’s story literally, well, nice family values, eh? But that’s just my interpretation, which I’m now questioning. I could be way off.”

The youths got up and went over to their pastor.

“I think we’ve been wrong about gay people…”

“… They’re fellow children of God.”

At the next table, a homeless midget in a crash helmet spread whipped butter.

The youths returned.

Serge smiled. “Looked like your preacher was telling you to stay on message.”

“Do you realize the only path to righteous glory-”

Serge took another bite. “Let’s talk about evolution…”

Chapter Sixteen

NEW HAMPSHIRE

A Hertz Town Car crossed the Durham city line. Snow melted to ice. The car parked at a dorm.

Four Latin men ran up steps. Guillermo led the way down a hall. He stopped in front of a door and checked the number against his scrap of paper. Then he motioned for Raul, the lock-pick specialist.

He eased the door open, and they went inside.

Empty.

The gang fanned out, carefully combing the room for any clue to track Andy. Day planner, travel receipts, phone numbers, anything.

Failure.

Finesse gave way to destructive ransacking. When they were done, the room was neater.

“Guillermo,” said Miguel, “I don’t understand it. We usually at least find something. It’s like he has no routine at all.”

“It’s college.”

They left the room and closed the door. Halfway down the hall, Guillermo called a huddle.

“Any ideas?”

“Stake out the dorm from across the street?” said Miguel.

“Campuses have too much security,” said Guillermo.

“Then what are we going to do?”

“Let me think…”

Pedro nodded up the hall. “Who’s that?”

They looked back, where someone was entering the room they’d just left.

“It can’t be this easy,” said Miguel.

Guillermo led the way back. “We’ll soon find out.”

Flakes of fish food were tapped into an aquarium and spread out across the water’s surface. Guppies darted. A door opened.

Jason turned around. “Who are you?”

Guillermo walked toward him. “Andy McKenna?”

Jason shook his head.

The rest of the men came inside and closed the door behind them. The butt of a Mac-10 submachine gun protruded from one of their jackets.