Vienna, Austria

The footsteps echoed off the stone edifices of the buildings as a lone figure ran through the alleyways. His hurried breaths resounded as his feet slammed on the cobblestone. As the man made his way through the winding back ways, he turned from left to right, above and behind for the person that stalked him. Running for his life, Franz wondered why he'd been suckered into such a scheme. The plan had seemed simple; St. Agatha's would have its coffers full with the upcoming Christmas holiday. Breaking in and taking the money should have been simple. Who could have known that the priest would put up such a fight? Or that Ulrich would have a gun? They'd gotten away with the money, but only for a time.

Franz slipped on a patch of ice he didn't see, slamming into a group of garbage cans sitting in the alley. He froze as the sounds of the empty tin rang throughout the bare lots. He curled into a ball, trying to hide in the refuse that had spilled out. From the direction he had come, he heard the sound of doom. Heavy footsteps approached, calm and methodic. The dark form Franz had been fleeing appeared in the dim light from the nearby streetlights. At its side, the figure held a gleaming object, the same gun that had ripped through Ulrich and the other members of the gang. He tried to stifle his sobs of fear, tried to stop his quavering breath. His teeth began to chatter, not from the cold, but at the thought of what awaited him. The black shadow zeroed in on his huddled body, kicking the garbage can away from him.

"Please," he pleaded, "I didn't mean it!"

"First, you break into a church, during a time of great celebration. Then you have the audacity to steal money donated by the faithful," a grim feminine voice said. "If that wasn't enough, you and your friends had to go and kill a shepherd, who's only crime was in defending his flock."

"Come on! That can't mean I have to die," he demanded, "It isn't right!"

"You don't understand whom you're dealing with," she said, "but soon you will. Just try and pay the ferryman now. I praise the justice of the Lord; I celebrate the name of the Lord Most High."

BANG

St. Catherine's, Boston Mass.

The priest looked around the near-empty church carefully. Life had become complicated since the stories had broken on the national news. Now, every priest and church official was being scrutinized under a magnifying glass. He ducked into the Confessional, knowing that his secret would be safe there.

"Forgive me, for I have sinned," he said as the partition slid aside.

"I know," the silhouette answered. It wasn't something the priest was expecting.

"Excuse me?" he asked carefully. Maybe a crazy person or something had wandered into the church.

"I said, I know why you're confessing," the figure explained.

"You're not a priest, are you?"

"I am a priest, and I know what you've done. You betrayed God, His earthly kingdom, and a billion faithful souls."

"Wait a minute," the priest began, "Where exactly are you from?"

"I carry a shield with no heraldry."

His breath caught in his throat. Anyone who knew Christian art recognized the significance of a blank shield. To be represented by a blank shield meant one man.

"You really exist? There really is such an organization within the Church?" he queried.

"Of course. And we've been aware of you and your activities for a while now. Do you know what it really means to be transferred?"

"Not really…"he mumbled. This was worse than his worst nightmare. The second partition slid away to reveal a priest, barely in his twenties, with an amiable demeanor.

"By 'transfer,' we mean onto the next life," the other priest's face twisted into a malicious grin. It was then that he noticed the pistol cradled in his hand.

"Please, what about forgiveness, what about absolution?"

"You'll be given your chance to plead your case before God," he answered, leveling the pistol on him. "Truly the evil man shall not go unpunished, but those who are just shall escape," the young priest said as he pulled the trigger.