The woman returned and opened the door. She was scantily dressed. Proud breasts were adorned with black tassels that hung from her nipples. Tight fake leather shorts and thigh high fake leather boots finished the wardrobe, but a shoulder holster with a pistol butt protruding from it added a more serious touch.

She curled a finger in his direction, beckoning him inside. He followed her through some winding passageways and then up a flight of stairs. At another closed door she knocked twice, paused, and then knocked again.

Father Gomez smiled.

A simple code. Like children. But these people are killers. The woman opened the door and gestured for him to go in. He thanked her. She simply winked and nodded and headed down the stairs, presumably to go back to her post at the alley door.

The room was a simple office. Two desks, each with a computer on it, were on the right side of the room. Along the back side facing the alley was a workbench with what looked like bomb making materials on it. Father Gomez felt a cold chill as he recognized the plastic explosive. An automatic weapon was also on the bench. Finally, on the left side were two old oversized wing chairs. In one a man was sitting. He had been reading something.

"Father Gomez, it is good to see you again."

The man stood and offered a hand. He hadn't changed much in going from boy to man. Frail looking, almost wispy, he was ashen-faced with blond hair and blue eyes. A livid scar ran from the left corner of his mouth to just below the left ear. He squinted a little. Sweat stained the armpits of his shirt; the room was not cool.