The Lazarus Prophecy Read Online Free PDF Page B

steps.
    Brother Stephen closed the door behind him. They waited for him to ascend out of earshot and then Brother Philip said, ‘You should not have lied to him about our numerical strength.’
    â€˜If he’s not our friend, he’s our enemy,’ Brother Stephen said. ‘And I told him the truth about how many we are here. What resources we possess beyond these walls is none of his concern.’
    â€˜He’s here because we’re obsolete,’ Brother Dominic said. ‘We’re an embarrassment to this modern Church with its refusal to believe in miracles.’
    â€˜Miracles are not the only thing they’re agnostic about,’ Brother Philip said, ‘or the most important.’
    â€˜That might change for Father Cantrell when he uses the garret key,’ Brother Stephen said. ‘His perspective might alter entirely.’
    Cantrell climbed. The stone cylinder up which he ascended seemed very smooth in the waxy glimmer of his candle flame. He had two thin inches of tallow before his fingers began to burn and darkness engulfed him. He found himself hoping that there was a bright and spacious window with a panoramic mountain view through its storm-proof glass on the other side of the door to which he held the key. Somehow he doubted it.
    He was climbing again. He had done a lot of that already for one day and thought that the ascent to their grim priory should have given him an appetite. He should by rights feel famished, he thought, even ravenous by now.
    But he didn’t. What he actually felt was hollow with a sense of trepidation so strong he thought it qualified as dread. Sweat oozed out of his facial pores with every labored step and he could smell its sourness on skin that felt tender and raw under his clothing with gooseflesh. His scalp itched under his hair. His heart skittered in his chest.
    He had reached the door. It was iron, like the entrance to an ancient prison cell, rust streaked and immensely solid, an enduring and implacable obstacle to anything getting in or getting out. With an unsteady exhalation of breath, he fumbled the key into its lock.

Chapter Two
    â€˜He’s identified with the Beast out of the Earth from the Book of Revelation,’ Jacob Prior said. ‘Some of the alternative names he was given derive from 666. They’re numerologically decoded. But it’s the same character. Most of the early references to the Antichrist consider him to be a real individual rather than a metaphor for anarchy and destruction.’
    â€˜How early is early?’
    â€˜We’re talking the first and second centuries A.D. The Hebrew text Dom Carter translated this morning uses names familiar from that far back. He refers to the Son of Perdition and The Wicked One and The Son of the Wicked Demon. They’re all early Christian synonyms for the Antichrist.’
    â€˜This Wicked Demon …’
    â€˜Satan.’
    â€˜So the Antichrist is the Devil’s son?’
    â€˜That’s one interpretation.’
    Jane sat back in her chair. They were in her office and the door was firmly closed. There was coffee in two mugs on the desk between them, but neither of them had touched their drink. Jacob Prior was as young as he’d sounded, surely only in his late 20s. He was darkly good looking with a slightly melancholy demeanor. She thought that might just be because they were discussing a detail from a recent and horrific murder. Or it might actually be piety, a condition with which she was unfamiliar.
    He’d arrived holding a cycle helmet. He was much more mountain bike padlocked to street railings than he was sports saloon on a parking meter. He was rangy and athletic looking and casually attired in jeans and a black sweatshirt with no discernible logo. The four faxed translations were facing him on the desk. They’d requested Professor Carter use a fax machine because it was so much more secure than email was.
    â€˜He’s