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“One more thing,” he croaked. The spark of his life force was almost visibly guttering. “A benediction.”

Kismet winced. “I’m no priest.”

“Your blessing would mean more to me than any last rites.” His voice was now barely audible.

Kismet gripped his shoulder. “Godspeed, my friend.” Strangely, even though he himself was not a believer, he found the words deeply profound, as if he had somehow tapped into the other man’s faith.

“Friend,” Turino echoed. “Get her out of here, Nick…”

A few more words took shape on his lips, but there was no breath to give them weight. The old man seemed to melt out of Kismet’s grasp. He closed Turino’s sightless eyes, and then rose and tugged gently on Capri’s arm. “He’s right. We have to leave.”

Capri’s face was a mask of grief, but her eyes held a hint of comprehension, as if in her heart, she knew that such a destiny was inevitable for a man like her grandfather-a man of violence. Perhaps for him it was a better fate than surrendering to the ravages of old age or prolonged illness. She yielded to Kismet's efforts and permitted herself to be drawn along.

Kismet took a step and felt something under his foot. It was the Judas Rope. He looked down at the cord of black hemp, wrapped around the formless cassock. There was no trace of Negron; not even dust. He hugged Capri close then guided her toward the motorcycle.

“Shouldn’t we do something about it?” Her voice cracked with lingering grief, but her meaning was clear. “You saw what he did. It’s evil. It has to be destroyed.”

Kismet shook his head. “That’s what he believed and that’s why he could do what he did. But it’s not really evil. Evil is in men. That’s just an old piece of rope. It doesn’t mean anything.”

Her expression was doubtful but she offered no argument as she climbed on behind him and wrapped her arm around his waist. The Enduro started on the first try and after revving the throttle, Kismet steered toward the highway and sped off into the night.

Later, as the first rays of the rising sun crept across the gray waters of the Atlantic ocean and seeped through the curtain of pine boughs, golden light illuminated the Judas Rope and the hemp fibers began to wither like a piece of fruit fallen from the vine. When the police eventually arrived, all that remained was a twist of ash that quickly crumbled and blew away in the wind. No one even noticed.

— END—

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

SEAN ELLIS is the author of several novels. He is a veteran of Operation Enduring Freedom, and has a Bachelor of Science degree in Natural Resources Policy from Oregon State University. He lives with his wife and two sons in Arizona, where he divides his time between writing, adventure sports, and trying to figure out how to save the world.

Visit him online at www.seanellisthrillers.webs.com.