The Omen by David Seltzer Page A

for he could not eat it now, and instead reached over and flapped its little barbecued wings, and squawked a little as though it were talking. Then he opened a can of sardines and ate in silence with his mute dinner companion.
    The timer went off and Jennings moved into the darkroom, using tongs to lift his proofsheets from the acid baths. What he saw brought jubilation, and he howled with joy. Turning on a bright light and slipping the sheet under a magnifying stand, he scrutinized the photos, shaking his head with delight. It was the series of shots taken of the back of the hall. Though not a single face or body could be made out in the darkness,

there hung the javelin-like appendage, standing out like a puff of gray smoke.
    "Fuck!" muttered Jennings as his eye came upon something else. It was a fat man smoking a cigar. The appendage might indeed be smoke. Racking up his negatives, he singled out the three in question and put them in the enlarger, waiting an agonizing fifteen minutes until they were ready and could be viewed. No. It was not smoke. The color and texture were different, and so was the relative distance to the camera. If it were cigar smoke, the fat man would have had to blow a great quantity of it to create such a cloud. It would have disturbed the people around him, and they were instead completely oblivious of the smoking man, gazing ahead, unperturbed. The ghostlike appendage seemed to be hanging far back in the auditorium, perhaps against the far wall. Jennings slipped the enlargement under his magnifying stand and studied it in great detail. Beneath it he saw the hem of priestly robes. He raised his arms and let out a war cry. It was the little priest again, and he was somehow involved with Thorn.
    "Holy shit" cried Jennings. "Hot holy shit!"
    And in celebration he returned to the dinner table, ripping off the wings of his silent companion, devouring them to the bones.
    "I'm gonna find that sucker!" he laughed. "I'm gonna go hunt him down!"
    The following morning he cropped a shot of the priest, one he had taken with the Marine on the Embassy stairs. He took it around to several churches, then finally to the regional offices of the London Parish. But no one recognized the photo, assuring Jennings that if the priest were employed in the area, they would have known him. He was from outside the city somewhere. The job would be harder. On a hunch, Jennings went to Scotland Yard and got access to their mug books, but it turned up nothing, and he knew there was

    only one thing left to do. He had first seen the priest coming out of the Embassy; probably someone in there would know.
    It was difficult to gain entrance to the Embassy. Security guards checked credentials and appointments, and they wouldn't let Jennings past the front desk.
    "I'd like to see the Ambassador," Jennings explained. "He said he'd reimburse me for a camera. ,,
    They called upstairs, and to Jennings' surprise they told him to go to a lobby phone where the Ambassador's office would call him. Jennings did as he was instructed, and in a moment was speaking to Thorn's secretary who wanted to know the sum involved and where a check should be mailed.
    "I'd like to explain it to him personally," said Jennings. "I'd like to show him what he's getting for his money."
    She replied that that would be impossible as the Ambassador was in a meeting, and Jennings decided to go for broke.
    - "To tell you the truth, I thought he could help me with a personal problem. Maybe you could help me instead. I'm looking for a priest. He's a relative. He's had some business at the Embassy, and I thought maybe someone here had seen him and could help me."
    It was an odd request and the secretary was reluctant to respond.
    "He's a very short fella," added Jennings.
    "Is he Italian?" she asked.
    "I think he spent some time in Italy," replied Jennings, faking it to see what it was worth.
    "Would his name be Tassone?" asked the secretary.
    "Well, actually, Fm not sure.