12:04 p.m. Passion Ministry

Phil chewed his nails. “This’s a disaster,” he kept repeating. “I think we’re ruined. You know, Sheil? Might be a good idea to jump ship.”

“What’re you talking about?”

Phil glanced away.

“You’ve known Andy longer, but you don’t seem too upset.”

He shrugged.

Some lucky reporter had been a emergency patient when the ambulance carrying Andrew and Oscar had arrived at the hospital. When the journalist overheard the Passion Ministry mentioned, he forgot his sinusitis and began nosing about.

Gained him big points at his paper with a scoop on the death of the man who had allegedly cloned Jesus Christ. And put him in Sheila Drysdale’s bad books, as her office phone began ringing incessantly, well before six.

Sheila had just been informed that the prestigious American Science Journal planned to publicly denounce Andrew’s cloning claims, unless provided proper scientific documentation and peer review. Right, she thought letting the phone ring. Get in line.

“Why do you say we’re ruined?” she asked. “You’ve had some bee in your bonnet about money. What’s up? Why would Andrew’s death matter?”

“Come on, Sheila! Doesn’t take a Harvard MBA to see what the financial implications are.” Phil jumped up. “Do I have to spell it out for you? We’re in business, no matter what John says, and we’re a good business. We make a lot of money. We do a lot of good.”

She nodded.

“Well, that’s over, sweetheart. Religion’s sold on credibility, right? No credibility, no Ministry. No Ministry, no money, no good works.” He slumped back. “End of sacred story.”

“I think you’re overreacting or... there’s more to it than Andrew’s death.” Her eyes lit up. “That’s it, isn’t it? You’ve got something on the go.”

“That press release, read me what you’ve got so far,’ he replied, leaning over her chair.

She grabbed the draft. Stood. “Do something useful. Delete the last paragraph and run a spell-check. Got to look into something.”

“Hey!” he shouted at her back. “I’m not your secretary!”