The Last Judgment by Craig Parshall Read Free Book Online Page A

caused the FBI and the U.S. Attorney’s Office to be overcautious in making sure that he had no terrorist ties.
    But the second alternative troubled Will even more. He knew there was a possibility that Gilead—as honest and unassuming as he appeared to be—had not told Will everything about his background, his travels to the Middle East, or his plans for the future.
    After talking to Attorney Kastone, he had the lingering impression that in representing Gilead Amahn he might have stumbled over something much more malevolent than an isolated fracas at a Muslim center.

7
    W ILL AND F IONA WERE AT THE KITCHEN TABLE finishing breakfast. Andrew, their eleven-year-old son, was thundering down the stairs of their large log house. He dashed into the kitchen lugging his backpack and sports bag.
    â€œGot to go!” Andrew shouted to his parents.
    Andrew was a good-looking boy of medium height, with a sinewy body and bright eyes.
    â€œYou haven’t eaten breakfast—” Fiona said.
    â€œMom, I did.”
    â€œReally?” she said probing.
    â€œYes.”
    â€œAnd is Mrs. Jankowski okay with our switching the car-pool dates—her driving today and me taking you guys tomorrow?” Fiona asked.
    â€œYes. Now I’ve got to go—really, Mom. ’Bye…”
    And with the last word Andrew was already dashing through the front door.
    â€œGee, it’s just the two of us,” Fiona said with a smile. “Can you stick around for another cup of coffee?”
    â€œI’d love to,” Will said reluctantly, “but I’ve got to get to the office. The district court trial of Gilead Amahn is coming up in just a matter of days. I’ve got to start putting stuff together.”
    â€œHow’s he doing?”
    â€œHe’s finally out of jail. The feds released him from that hold. Very strange. They never gave me any explanation. Say,” Will changed subjects, “you’re here at the recording studio today, right?”
    Fiona nodded as she stood up and began to clear the dishes off the kitchen table.
    â€œRight,” she said, on her way to the sink. “We’re going to do a little bit of work today to help finish at least one of the numbers for the next album. What a blessing it is to have a studio right here on our property! I remember the old days—having to go down to Nashville for days on end…or up to New York.”
    â€œWell, you know I wanted to get your studio built as soon as we could manage it—for selfish reasons, of course. I love having you around and not having to travel as much.”
    Fiona smiled and turned from the sink, wiping her hands on a dishtowel.
    â€œNow, if I could just get you to stay put and stop traveling around the world on those high-stress international cases…”
    â€œWell, to be accurate, it’s been a while since I’ve done any globe-trotting,” Will pointed out. “Maybe I’m just getting old. But I’m enjoying settling down…doing that part-time teaching at the seminary. And my work at the Institute for Freedom has been very important to me. You know, for the first time in a long time I’m enjoying the feeling of some stability in our lives. Predictability.”
    â€œI think that’s a good thing,” Fiona said. “You know, maybe it’s starting to dawn on you, my dear, that you don’t personally have to take on all the David-and-Goliath legal battles on the planet.”
    â€œOh, I never thought that,” Will said, his voice trailing off.
    â€œOh?” Fiona said with a chuckle. “Let’s see—there’s the Sudan case. Then there was the case before the International Criminal Court in The Hague. With side trips to investigate that one…let’s see…you were—oh, that’s right—spending time in the jungles of the Yucatán getting shot at. Gee, I almost forgot.”
    Will got up from the