She was amazed as she had watched his body heal, skin peeling in sheets to fall away like the skin of an onion as new, pink skin, healthy and unhurt, emerged from beneath. His hideously ravaged head and face, also, had slowly reconstituted, becoming almost as smooth and unscarred as they were before the fight. Already a thin sheen of hair and skin was visible on the skull, which had gleamed a reddish-white only a few hours ago. Together they rested in the abandoned building somewhere in a city.
Cain sat on the dirt-caked floor while she lay on a moldy mattress, her hands and feet tied, tape over her mouth. And for the longest time she thought he had fallen asleep. But now she sensed that he was doing something else. He was meditating ... or something.
Finally he raised his head and a deep breath escaped him as he bent over, slowly opening his eyes to stare hatefully at nothing she could see.
Amy watched, afraid to move, hoping he'd forgotten her. Then he rolled his head and moved his fingers in a fluttering, quick gesture that made the talons click. He flexed a fist, holding it a moment before laughing that horrible, haunting laugh. Turned to her.
"Amazing, is it not?" He smiled slowly, a cruel red slash splitting beneath mocking eyes. "Amazing that this body holds such power." He laughed again. "I thought that whore of a nun had exhausted my strength. How pleased I was to discover that she had not. For I still have much to do. I must locate Kano. I need ... The Circle."
Amy had trouble catching her breath. She didn't remember much of the night. Only cold, a soaring roar in her ears and then a landing silence with an even deeper cold. Then there had been a distant, frightening scream and more screams before the man returned and lifted her, moving with rumbling, galactic force through a dark forest. She woke up here.
"Mortals." He stared away. "They regard knowledge as evil. And yet they know nothing of knowledge. They know nothing of space or light or worlds beyond the scope of their imagination." He sighed, "I spoke with him—warred with him face-to-face and I knew the terrible scope of that arm. So, no, I was never deceived. And I myself was almost without limit, made to resemble him in every way." He frowned. "These mortals wonder stupidly at my image. But my image was as his – as the sun in all its glory. No creature in Heaven could look upon me with pride."
There was silence until he clenched his fists and gritted his teeth. "Michael! You were such a fool! Together we could have made the North run red with blood! Together we could have taken that Throne! But then, there was always ... the Nazarene."
Amy saw the face darken, the hard lines burning in the frown, the black eyes. "Yes, always the Nazarene – the one who had the pride to taunt even me! To call me murderer ... Thief ... Seducer ... Liar. But he will regret his scorn. For I will yet drag him down in his vassal’s human form to this disintegrating world, and the chains will change." He was silent a long time. "Do you really believe that I, as lofty as I am, failed to see the essence of what you were?" He laughed. "No, for certain, space and time cannot change. And you think I didn't understand? But I understood too well! I understood from the beginning what you had created and what my place could be within it! Nor did I care for what I could not claim!
"The infinite belongs to you and always shall! But this . . . this that exists in space and time was mine and shall be again!" He grimaced. "No, you are not undefeatable! I destroyed your work by power. I destroyed your work by deception. I defeated you again and again and I will defeat you again! Your only victory lies with the horror of the hill ... my only crime. For until then I had never killed an innocent man. I had never violated your ... your justice! I won by right! I won by might! I had taken nothing that was not rightfully mine!"
With a guttural roar he threw up taloned hands. "The Earth was given to man but man gave it to me! All this was legally mine and you knew it! And then you deceived me! You lied to me! And you had the pride to call me a liar?" His eyes narrowed as if he beheld something savagely pleasing. "But I made you suffer for it! I made you suffer as no man has ever suffered nor ever shall! Until I make you suffer for it again!"
Amy heard a car outside the building. Reflected light coming through the windows of the second-floor window caused him to lower his head. Stunned, Amy watched with wide eyes, with hope, but the giant rose slowly to his feet, undisturbed. He edged to the window and glanced down, gazing a long time until he turned to her.
"It seems the police have discovered our means of transportation." He laughed and stretched his huge arms, releasing a deep breath. "They are entering the building to investigate, which is a fortuitous event, indeed. For I hunger."
Gazing down, he smiled.
Moved toward the stairs.
***
Soloman was amazed with the skill that Marcelle met their needs. The priest stopped once to make a quick phone call and then they were driving again, Soloman alert for marked or unmarked cars.
Cautiously Marcelle directed them to a small church off Pennsylvania Avenue, less than a hundred yards from Shore Drive, a heavily traveled interstate. Soloman stopped behind the building and exited the LTD and in the cold ocean breeze he could smell the salt water of Jamaica Bay. He caught sight of a 747 landing at Kennedy Airport, less than thirty minutes away. From years in the intelligence field he knew it was a good location for a safe-house.
Marcelle was speaking quickly as Soloman lifted Maggie from the back seat.
"Aveling has arranged for a speedboat to wait for us in the bay," the priest said. "If need arises, we will use it to escape the city and gain another place in New Jersey, which he has also prepared. And we have a private jet waiting at the airport to take us anywhere in the world within a half-hour's notice."
Slightly stunned as he carried Maggie into the rear entrance of the church, Soloman asked, "Do you people do this often, Marcelle? I haven't seen any intelligence agency in the world that has this kind of coordination without a ton of paperwork and computer gurus."
Closing the door hard behind them, Marcelle laughed.
"The Church is not the world, Colonel."
***
Aveling was seated in a crimson chair, staring intently into the vault of the Secret Archives. His face held no expression, his hands no tension as they rested on the mahogany arms. But his eyes, focused on the cavernous chamber as if to discern truth by sheer will, glinted angrily.
The Librarian Superior stood to the side, waiting.
Moving quickly, Father Barth came down the steps, a note in his hand. He walked up to Aveling and waited until the Jesuit said, "Yes?"
Barth handed him the note, which he read slowly, frowning before he nodded. "Good," he said. "Now, arrange in Rome for the transfer of unlimited funds."
"A wise decision, Aveling. But, again, do we not worry about the consequences?"
"The consequences can worry of themselves," Aveling answered gravely, folding hands meditatively before his face. "Marcelle has thrown himself into the void, so now there can be no trembling of hands or knees. I will stand behind my son because I believe his cause is just, because his enemy is great, and because we must all choose where we will die. And, last, because no man who sets his hand to the plow and looks back is worthy of the Kingdom of God."
A long pause.
"Go," Aveling said, bowing his head. "Do what must be done."
***
Soloman was stoic, staring out a window. He knew that Marcelle had approached him but didn't turn. His mind had locked on something dark and disturbing. "Tell me something, Marcelle," he began. "Do you really think you're right about Cain?"
Gloom, silence.
"Yes, Colonel, I believe that I am right. As incredible as it sounds, I believe that Cain is a dead man inhabited by Satan. The body is dead and the soul has fled, but because of this bizarre experiment it walks among us as undead. Now, Satan has somehow seized the soulless void of this superhuman body, so we do not battle mere flesh. We battle a principality. We battle an elemental force of the universe."
"You spoke of that before," Soloman s
aid. "And I wasn't certain if I believed." He paused. "But now I do."
Marcelle said nothing.
"Is he on a chain, Marcelle?"
"A chain, yes," the priest replied. "A long chain, to be sure. But the Almighty does, indeed, keep him on a chain. If he did not, then Cain would have destroyed this world long ago. And he knows his time is short, but he has deceived himself into believing that he can overcome."
"A dog on a leash," Soloman said. "That's what Amy said. A dog on a leash." He grimaced. "So much power, but there's no nobility, nothing to glorify. It's like strength without purpose. Vengeance without justice."
"Yes, but he remains strong." Marcelle was grim. "For he was once the greatest of all created beings, and he retains a measure of that cosmic might. Nor can any man understand him because no man can understand the essence of a spiritual being. Spiritual beings are not the fruit of reason, Colonel. Nor can any man understand pure evil because at the core of even the most immoral man lies the faintest measure of good."
A mutual silence.
"He's insane," Soloman said.
Marcelle considered. "Yes," he said, "his defeat is assured and yet he denies. He is deceived by his own ferocity and he inhabits his own dimension of madness."
"Madness to name this," Soloman whispered. “How inadequate.”
*
CHAPTER 21
“It ain't gonna end like this," Ben muttered, fists clenching.
He found his car in the parking lot of Langley and unlocked it, lamenting the long drive back to the base with the traffic and the tolls. He wasn't in a mood for the mundane.
After dealing with Archette he vaguely expected the whole thing to blow sky high when he started the engine but the experience was uneventful. Then he hastily cleared the guarded exit and drove east on Highway 172, sensing rather than smelling the water of Chesapeake Bay.
He felt himself frowning as he debated a dozen options. But everything seemed futile, an exercise for nothing. And he knew better than to commit to an attack before he had measured the strength of the resistance; futile attacks cost more lives than futile causes. But, really, there was nothing left to do except sit and watch, he thought, as he saw the flat green fields of Langley Air Force Base approaching.
As he cleared the gate, angrily anticipating the thirty-minute flight to Washington, the phone rang and he let them know by his tone that this was not a good time. But as he listened, his brow hardened in concentration.
"Who is this?" he growled.
He listened until the conversation ended abruptly, as if in defense against a tap. Then, stone-faced, he parked the car in a no-parking zone and moved with his briefcase across the lobby, shouldering a dozen non-coms aside to command the desk sergeant’s immediate attention.
Ben returned the salute.
"Get me a chopper right now," he said sternly, using the full frightening weight of his authority. He didn't like to brutally throw his influence or power over his boys, but he was inspired.
"What's the flight plan, sir?" the sergeant asked, galvanized, and Ben looked up from his wallet, knowing he couldn't use military resources for the rest of it.
His eyes glinted.
"Long Island," he said.
***
Maggie was sitting on the bed smoking a cigarette when Soloman entered the small, undecorated room. Thin blue wisps spiraled up from a faintly trembling hand but her face was emotionless. Approaching her slowly, Soloman watched her eyes. They never turned to him.
When he was beside her he drew up a chair and glanced out the window, noticing the darkness approaching far too fast. It disturbed him deeply because it meant they had only three more nights until Samhain and the ritualistic sacrifice of Amy, if she were still alive.
Leaning back as Maggie released a slow breath, Soloman waited for her to speak. They hadn't talked at all after the battle in the basilica; it had been too chaotic. And everyone had been temporarily deafened by the explosions and gunfire. But now, Soloman knew, they had to communicate because he had seen Maggie replace the syringe in the coolant, securing it inside her purse.
In the dying light of a dismal day he stared at a slender wood crucifix hung on the wall, one of the few emblems in this hidden section of the basilica. Then Maggie flicked ashes into a small bowl and slowly massaged her forehead with the heel of her hand. Her voice was dry as she said, "I could use a glass of water, please."
"Sure," Soloman said as he moved from the room, coming back to find her smoking another cigarette. Gently, silently, he set the glass on a small table beside the bed, trying to sound encouraging.
"I didn't know you smoked."
A corner of her mouth quirked in a humorless smile. "Gave 'em up." She didn't look at him. "Bummed a pack off Marcelle."
"Yeah," Soloman said faintly. "Marcelle likes his cigarettes." He shook his head. "Sometimes he'll have one burning in an ashtray and one burning in his hand at the same time."
"It's his nerves. He doesn't show it any other way, but what he's doing in this affects him pretty badly." She was silent. "Everybody needs something."
Nothing was said for a long time, but from the set of her eyes Soloman knew that small talk was over. After taking a sip of water she looked directly at him, as if she expected him to start it. He returned the stare and tried to be encouraging without sounding patronizing.
"I think she's still alive, Maggie."
"Oh?" She took a long drag. "Why?"
"Because Cain wanted to take her alive. He went to a lot of trouble to take her alive. If he was going to just kill her he could have done it in the attic before I got to him. But he didn't. And that's because he wants to keep her until Samhain. We've still got three days."
Something in her eyes was vaguely hostile, and she held it a long time. Then she lowered her face as she spoke, staring at the falling night. "I was going to use the virus."
"I know."
"I haven't checked my purse." Her lips tightened. "I don't know whether to trust you or not."
"I put it back in your purse, Maggie."
She looked at him when he spoke those words, and Soloman smiled faintly. "You did the same thing I would have done," he continued. "I wouldn't have let Cain walk out of there with my child if I had the power to stop him – no matter what I had to do. If anything, I’m sorry you didn’t get a good chance to hit him with it."
Silence.
A tear fell. "I could have killed us all, Soloman." She rubbed it from her cheek. "Including Amy."
"You did the right thing, Maggie." Soloman's eyes softened. He hadn't seen a woman cry in so long. He was vaguely shocked that he was so touched. "But nobody was hurt. And I'm convinced Amy is still alive. I'm telling you that we have three more days.”
"And how are we going to find him, Sol?" It was a heartfelt question. "We couldn't find him before. We had to make him come to us. Now we've lost him again and he could be anywhere, just ... anywhere ..."
"We'll find him." Soloman tried to communicate his confidence. "Trust me, we'll find him. We've got one more stone to turn over, but it might give us something to go on. It has to."
Then, reluctantly, he told her the full extent of their situation; they were cut off from military support, they were being hunted by every intelligence agency in the world but they had the full support of the Vatican which would do anything necessary to locate and destroy Cain.
She heard it all and pondered it a long time, the cigarette burning, suddenly forgotten, in her hand. Soloman couldn't truly tell how badly she'd received the news. Her face had paled but she was also cold, almost scientific.
He looked up as Mother Superior Mary Francis, gray and stooped, entered the room with fresh bandages. Without asking permission the old nun began unwrapping the bandage on Maggie's left forearm and Soloman noticed that she seemed remarkably adept at the task.
With a frown Maggie ground out the cigarette with her right hand as the nun worked, speaking in a raspy voice. "Every child needs a mother.
And soon your child shall have hers once more."
The words, spoken with such quiet conviction, made a sudden tear appear on Maggie's face.
"Yes, I know," Sister Mary Francis added without looking up. "But suffering does not last forever. Not for you. And not for your child."
Maggie stared. "Do you really think she's alive?"
"She is alive."
"But how can you know?"
"Because I know God will not let the Devil triumph in this." Mary Francis deftly finished the fresh bandage, moving with surprising gentleness. "This is not his world, and soon God will deliver his doom."
"But he's already killed so many peo—"
"The sword devours one side as well as the other," the Mother Superior interrupted sternly. "But Amy's life would give him his ultimate victory, and that shall not be. God will not allow it. Soon your child will have her mother's arms to comfort her once more."
With a grimace Maggie leaned her head into the old nun's shoulder and without hesitation Mary Francis reached up, settling a firm hand on the auburn hair, bringing them together. And at Maggie's first racking cry Soloman silently rose and walked from the room.
But as he moved toward the door he also moved toward something inside him that was heated by the painful cries, and his face changed by degrees to stone. And as he cleared the portal he knew only one thing with absolute certainty.
He would pursue this thing to the ends of the Earth.
And he would kill it.
***
"It has arrived, Eminence."
Aveling did not stir as the young priest crossed the room to his crimson chair, which rested in front of the Archives. Then an instant later the man laid a large, wood-bound book on the old priest's lap, afterwards stepping far to the side, waiting in silence.
With a frown Aveling turned his face down.
The Grimorium Verum.
It was the last surviving copy, acquisitioned from the Secret Archives of the Vatican to be flown by Concorde and a commandeered Lear, no expense spared. It was an evil work, Aveling knew all too well, but within its pages might lie the secret behind the words Cain spoke in the tunnel.
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