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THE PRIEST

Midcoast Maine

T he ping of the running program woke The Priest from his combat nap. He popped a piece of nicotine gum, grabbed the Zippo lighter from the nightstand, and returned to the desk. So far, the drones he had deployed were useless, but there was more than one way to skin a cat.

The Bishop Security team was sharp. Their cybersecurity expert could transmit uncrackable data to unidentifiable recipients.

They didn’t factor in The Priest’s ability to detect the layers of protection Bishop Security attached to various transmissions.

His system was currently tracking messages with the highest level of secure protocols.

And he found one. The Priest couldn’t access the contents or determine the precise location of the recipient, but it was another breadcrumb along the trail.

He was closing in. It was only a matter of time.