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The Waiting

Greg Logollos sat in the huge waiting room; there was a table by his side with a cup of herbal tea. He was sitting reading the New York Times, catching up on the day's events.

He had taken a Concorde and flown three hours to be here; he had scheduled this meeting and it was only proper for him to attend on time. 

He was far from tired, and he looked ever the professional with his chiseled good looks and his charismatic appeal. He looked like a man waiting for a lunch date.

He didn't even bother to look up as a door opened, and footsteps filtered across the marble floor. Like grasshoppers clicking their heels. 

"His Excellency will see you now, Mr. Logollos," a young man in long robes addressed him.

Greg looked up and smiled, a smile that looked like it could slice through a dark heart. 

He folded the newspaper neatly, and reached over and took a sip from the herbal tea. Placing the cup gingerly on the saucer, he stood up and nodded at the young priest.