4:45 p.m. Passion Ministry

“For crying out loud, Phil. Stop pacing and talk!” Sheila ignored the clamor of the phones and shoved fistfuls of messages in Phil’s face. “The place’s going to hell in a hand basket. How’m I supposed to respond?”

“Don’t ask me,” he moaned. “You’re the PR expert!”

“Stop shouting at me!”

He leaned over her. “Somebody answer the stupid phone!”

“I would if you’d tell me what’s going on.”

He jumped up, scattering the messages. “That TV woman, that harlot,” he snapped, “just labeled us a bunch of Frankensteins.” He laughed hysterically. “Just the sorta publicity every religious organization’s dying for. I warned them... we’re finished.” A prickling of horror tattooed up his arms. “Oh no, the audit... it’ll be the last straw...”

“I don’t understand. Can’t...” Sheila paused. “Can’t we just issue a refutation? Claim slander, threaten a lawsuit? A quick, strongly-worded denial, then—”

“You don’t get it!” Phil collapsed into a chair. “It’s true,” he blurted. “That’s the sick joke of it, Sheil! All of it... John, cells from the Shroud... Andrew did it!”

“But... but that’s impossible! Isn’t it?” Sheila gawked at his expression. “You mean… Jimmy’s really Jesus Christ?”