Of course, if AEGIS could produce this data, so could Grand Inquisitor. Papa Jim was operating under the assumption that the Congregation possessed information at least as good as his own. But he wasn’t worried. Everything else being equal, the race would go to the swiftest, and he had already dispatched ten elite four-person commando squads of munchies into the thick of the riot to check out the locations AEGIS had provided. Each of those forty munchies, in addition to the usual complement of lethal weaponry, was equipped with DNA sniffers and a pistol that fired tranquilizer darts. If Ethan was there, Papa Jim was going to find him and rescue him . . . whether he liked it or not. And if any Congregation agents got in the way, they would live to regret it.
But not for long.
The black priest didn’t attempt to speak above the roar of the riot. He didn’t spare a glance for Ethan, who was too weak to speak or even to struggle. Instead, with his gaze fixed firmly on the crowd, the priest strode forward step by step, and people drew back from him as though pushed by the power of his gaze. After a while, he turned aside and climbed some steps. Swiveling slightly, he shouldered open a door and carried Ethan across the threshold, into darkness. The door swung shut behind them.
Instantly, the noise from outside vanished. The hopelessness that had all but buried Ethan alive sloughed away. He felt himself gently lowered to some kind of chair or bench. Then came a flare of light, and the black face of the priest bloomed out of the dark, illuminated by a lighter he held in one hand.
The illumination was weak but sufficient for Ethan to see that they had entered a church. The priest lit a candle, and then another, and more and more of the place took shape as he quickly moved about, lighting candle after candle, until there were dozens burning.
The church appeared to be abandoned, the pews covered in dust, the stained-glass windows dark and, in places, shattered, the altar empty of adornment. But abandoned or not, this was still a holy place. He could feel it. He was still weak, as though he’d just awakened from a long and draining illness, but he was beginning to think clearly again.
Even so, the cloud did not lift from his heart.
Maggie was still dead.
And the Congregation had still found him.
“Feeling better?” asked the priest, who had returned to him.
Ethan gave a wordless, wary nod.
“They beat you up pretty bad,” the priest observed matter-of-factly.
Ethan nodded again. His voice came out cracked past swollen and bloody lips. “N—not their fault,” he said. “P—possessed.”
“So you figured that out, did you? What else?”
For the first time, Ethan took a close look at the man who had saved him. He saw at once that he had been wrong about him. “Not—not Congregation,” he said in surprise.
The priest laughed. “Who, me? Hell, no! Not Conversatio, either.”
Now Ethan looked more closely still, past the man’s dark skin, searching for his soul. He didn’t see it. Where he should have spied a glowing shard of God stuff, there was nothing. “You haven’t got a soul,” he said, surprised for the second time.
“I’m afraid not,” came the reply. “Wasn’t made that way.”
“You’re an angel,” said Ethan, surprised for the third time. He slid forward out of the pew and would have knelt if the priest hadn’t pushed him back.
“None of that,” he said sharply. “You don’t kneel to me, Ethan. Or to anyone in this world.” And with that, the priest dropped to one knee. “And I looked, and behold a white cloud, and upon the cloud sat one like unto the Son of man, having on his head a golden crown, and in his hand a sharp sickle. And an angel came out of the temple, crying with a loud voice to him that sat on the cloud, ‘Thrust in thy sickle, and reap: for the time is come for thee to reap; for the harvest of the earth is ripe.’ And he that sat on the cloud thrust in his sickle on the earth; and the earth was reaped.”
Ethan stared speechlessly.
“Revelations, Chapter 14,” said the priest. “More or less.” He got to his feet with a grin. “My name’s Gabriel, by the way, but you can call me Gabe. It’s great to finally meet you, Ethan.” He thrust out his hand.
Dazed, Ethan shook it.
Father O’Malley did not consider himself to be a brave man. On the contrary, he knew himself for a coward. His meeting with Grand Inquisitor hadn’t changed that aspect of his character. Ever since, he’d gone about his duties in a state of perpetual anxiety, certain that he was about to be discovered. He felt sure that his apostasy—for that was what his conspiracy with Grand Inquisitor would be denounced as—was plainly visible to even the most casual glance, as though he were surrounded by a telltale glow. The stress was unbearable, and to combat it, he’d taken to eating constantly, stuffing his pockets with chocolate bars that he devoured more or less nonstop throughout the day. Though he realized that this behavior might itself call unwanted attention to him, he kept on doing it, because otherwise he was afraid that he would snap, that the pressure would overwhelm him and he would wind up confessing everything to Cardinal Ehrlich.
He was sure that Ehrlich suspected something. The man kept him close on one pretext or another. Ordinarily, O’Malley would have taken that as a mark of favor. But now it seemed an indication of suspicion. Surely he wasn’t imagining the way that Ehrlich was looking at him these days, as if he knew exactly what O’Malley was up to and was only waiting to spring his trap.
After the meeting with Grand Inquisitor, the cardinal had questioned O’Malley closely, wanting to hear every detail. O’Malley had squirmed, sweating profusely as he related the cover story that GI had concocted for him, about a new programming language derived from the application of O’Malley’s work with Mandelbröt sets to Q-dimensional Hilbert spaces. O’Malley didn’t have the slightest idea if what he was telling Ehrlich was the purest nonsense or the most rarefied brilliance.
Nor, as it turned out, did Cardinal Ehrlich. “Save your breath, Father,” he’d finally interrupted. “It’s beyond my understanding.”
“I’m not sure I understand it all either,” he’d admitted, feeling his cheeks turn red.
“I was hoping that GI had made a breakthrough in the search for Ethan. I thought perhaps that was why you’d been summoned.”
“Nothing was said about Ethan, Your Eminence,” he lied.
“We’ve had verified sightings of him from all over the world,” Ehrlich went on. “One day he’s in Cuba, the next in Pakistan. But if there’s a pattern to his appearances, GI hasn’t been able to identify it. So far, we haven’t been able to predict where he’s going to turn up next. Damn it, he’s up to something, O’Malley. We need to find him. To flush him out.”
“Yes, Your Eminence. Perhaps that’s the goal of the new programming language GI was talking about.”
“Shouldn’t you be working on it, then?”
“Yes, Your Eminence.” And he’d hurried back to his room, polishing off two chocolate bars on the way.
That had been three days ago. Ever since, he’d tried to immerse himself in work, but he couldn’t do it. He couldn’t stand to be alone in his room, staring at the code on his computer screen as if it were so much gibberish, waiting for the knock at the door that would signal disaster. As bad as that was, even worse was the two or three times each day that he received a summons from Cardinal Ehrlich. He would make the long climb to the cardinal’s private chambers, where he would detail what little progress he had made on the new language and then listen, longing for one of the chocolate bars in his pocket, as Ehrlich relayed news of Ethan’s latest appearances and the lack of progress on that front.
O’Malley’s only escape came in music. As a boy and a young man, he had taken piano lessons, even fancied himself something of a composer. In fact, it had been music that had brought him to mathematics and to God. But he hadn’t played in years. Now, however, he found himself pulled back to the piano, to the solace that came with letting his mind relax and his fingers roam over t
he keyboard. Fortunately, there was no shortage of pianos and organs in the Vatican, and he was always able to find a place to play when the need struck him. But even then his escape wasn’t complete. At the back of his mind, there was always the awareness that somewhere close by, possibly right under his nose, was the Conversatio agent that Grand Inquisitor had promised would help him when the time came. But how was he supposed to recognize the man? GI hadn’t said. He could be anyone. Day by day, O’Malley felt himself turning into a nervous wreck. He didn’t know how much longer he could keep it up. He wasn’t cut out for this kind of work.
Then, on the fourth day after the interview with Grand Inquisitor, two things happened.
The first was the suicide of Maggie Richardson.
Father O’Malley was stocking up on his chocolate supply at Giolitti when he heard the news. He remembered at once what Cardinal Ehrlich had said to him about the need to flush Ethan out. So this had been the method that had been decided on. It left him sickened, full of sorrow and impotent anger. He knew that he bore a share of the guilt for Maggie’s death, though it had happened thousands of miles away and he had never laid eyes on the girl or spoken to her in the flesh. Still, he felt such an influx of grief that it might have been his own sister who had died. He said a prayer for her soul and rushed back to the Vatican, his chocolate bars, for once, forgotten. There he set out to find Cardinal Ehrlich, who, as it turned out, was also looking for him. A novice conducted him to the cardinal’s private chambers, then departed.
Ehrlich, who was standing in front of his wall-screen TV, watching what looked like a war movie, glanced up as O’Malley entered. “Ah, there you are, Father O’Malley. You’ve heard the news?”
“About the girl’s death? Yes, and—”
Ehrlich interrupted him. “A terrible tragedy. But I was referring to the riot.”
O’Malley blinked. “Riot?”
Ehrlich gestured to the TV screen.
O’Malley found himself at a loss for words. The images being shown were like scenes out of hell itself. He felt sick to his stomach.
“It seems that Ethan has risen to the bait,” said Cardinal Ehrlich with satisfaction.
“Ethan . . . caused this?” asked O’Malley disbelievingly.
“He’ll be blamed for it,” Ehrlich answered. “That’s what counts. Just as he’ll be blamed for the death of Maggie Richardson.”
“But—”
“He’s there,” Ehrlich interrupted again. “In Times Square. Now. GI has confirmed it. He’s holed up in an old, abandoned church. It seems a priest rescued him. Not one of ours, unfortunately. But our agents are converging on the position even as we speak. Soon we’ll have him, Father. The so-called second Son.”
“And then what?” demanded O’Malley. “Are we going to murder him like we murdered Maggie Richardson?”
“The Richardson girl wasn’t murdered,” Ehrlich replied smoothly. “It was suicide. I imagine, if necessary, Ethan will follow her example.”
“Why are you telling me all this?” O’Malley asked, wringing his hands in distress. He felt close to tears. “I don’t want to have anything to do with it anymore!”
“But it’s too late for these squeamish objections,” the cardinal said. “Once we’ve got Ethan, it’s going to be your job to interrogate him, Father.”
“Me? I don’t know the first thing about how to conduct an interrogation!”
“You’ll assist Grand Inquisitor,” Cardinal Ehrlich said. “That new programming language you’ve been developing—it’s time to put it to the test.”
“But it’s not . . .” Father O’Malley trailed off. His mouth fell open, and his eyes grew wide with understanding.
He had found the Conversatio spy.
Or had he? Could it really be Cardinal Ehrlich? Or was this just another trap, an attempt to draw him out, make him incriminate himself?
Cardinal Ehrlich regarded him expressionlessly, giving nothing away. “Will you have trouble inputting the code, Father?” he asked at last.
“N—no, Your Eminence,” O’Malley stammered in reply.
“Good. Then I suggest you get started.”
“Now?”
“The sooner the better, I think.”
“Yes, of course,” said O’Malley and turned to leave.
“Oh, and Father?”
He looked back. “Your Eminence?”
“I’ll be praying for your success.”
“It’s time, Ethan,” Gabriel said. “Time for you to face your father.”
“Time?” Ethan leaned back in the pew, raising a small cloud of dust behind his shoulders. Of all the things that Gabriel could have told him, that was the one he’d least expected to hear. “But there’s so much more I have to say. So much more still to do.”
“Your brother said much the same once.”
“I have to say good-bye to Peter. To Kate. To everyone.”
“There’s nothing you could tell them that they don’t already know in their hearts.”
Ethan didn’t agree, but he saw no point in arguing. He glanced around the shabby interior of the church. “What is this place?”
“It is, or was, the Church of St. Mary the Virgin,” Gabriel told him. “One of the oldest Episcopal churches in the city. Shut down two years ago by Homeland Security after refusing to surrender almost a hundred illegal immigrants who claimed sanctuary here.”
“I remember. It was all over the news.”
“Just one of many churches closed for sheltering the meek and the helpless.”
He looked up at the angel. “We haven’t done very well, have we, Gabe? Humans, I mean.”
“That’s not for me to say. But I’ve known some good ones. I’ve even known some saints. I met your mother, you know. A remarkable woman.”
“Yes, she told me.” He sighed. “Still, you must despise us, you angels. Perfect as you are.”
Gabriel thought a moment before replying. “We aren’t perfect, not in the sense you mean. It is more accurate to say that we are an unchanging embodiment of certain abstract qualities, thoughts of the Most High given form and self-awareness. But we are far from perfect. We have no choices. No free will. No souls. If we could envy, we would envy humans. As it is, we sing their praises, for it is they, not we, who were made in the image of the Father.”
“But what about the devil, Lucifer? He was an angel, and he chose to go against God. What was that if not free will? What was that if not envy?”
“The Morning Star could only act as he acted. He had no more choice than any other angel. And that is true as well of the angels who followed him into damnation. And the ones who didn’t.”
“So it was all part of God’s plan.”
“Not in the way you mean,” Gabriel said. “God isn’t perfect either. As you have said yourself, Ethan, He makes mistakes. When He created Lucifer, there were logical inevitabilities following necessarily upon the act that your father didn’t fully foresee at the time. He was young. Inexperienced. He had a lot to learn about the business of creation. Thus the need for your brother. And for you.”
“And I suppose that’s why Maggie had to die,” Ethan said bitterly. “Because my father miscalculated a few billion years ago.”
“As to that, He would be better able to answer than I. But if you look past your pain and anger, I think you know that there are many who bear some share of the responsibility for that poor girl’s death, yourself among them.”
“How did she die?” Ethan asked.
“She was given an overdose of sleeping pills by an agent of the Congregation.”
Ethan felt as if he’d been physically struck by the angel’s words. It was a moment before he could speak again. Then, through gritted teeth, he hissed out a name. “Steerpike.”
“Yes,” said Gabriel. “He murdered her.”
“And I’m just supposed to ignore that?”
“Vengeance is not yours,” Gabriel said. “It belongs to the Most High.”
“T
hen what can I do?” asked Ethan plaintively, tears running down his blood-and-grime-streaked face as his anger melted away. “I loved her, Gabe. I loved her. Don’t you see? I have to do something!”
“If you loved her, as you say, then you have already done it. There is nothing more you can do for her than that. You must let her go, Ethan. It is not one woman but all humanity that concerns you now. The task for which God made you is at hand, Son of man.”
“Right. ‘Thrust in thy sickle and reap.’” He shuddered.
“He awaits, Ethan. You must go to Him.”
Ethan wiped his eyes with his ragged and torn shirtsleeve. “Look at me. I’m a wreck! How can I meet my father like this?”
“You’re in better shape than your brother was,” Gabriel said. “Like him, you will be greeted like the prodigal son of the parable. Fear not.”
“But what do I do? How do I . . . ?”
As quickly as that, Gabriel was gone. The flames of the candles wavered in the breeze of his going.
Ethan got to his feet. He ran a hand through his hair, trying to smooth it down, and looked around nervously. “Hello?”
There was no answer.
Ethan sidled gingerly out of the pew and into the center aisle that led to the empty altar. He advanced toward it, moving with a limp. He supposed that he could heal himself, remove every trace of his injuries, even clean and repair his torn, blood-stained clothes, but doing so felt wrong to him. He wasn’t that badly hurt, and others had been hurt so much worse for his sake. Gordon. Lisa. And now Maggie.
“Father? Are you here?”
Ethan climbed onto the altar, wincing with the effort. He turned slowly, taking in the cavernous interior of the church. He and Gabriel were not the first to take refuge in these ruins. Others had preceded them, and the evidence of their presence was revealed in the flickering candlelight: discarded clothing, the wrappers of candy bars and fast food, empty beer cans and bottles, cigarette butts, empty crack vials, used condoms, old newspapers, graffiti sprayed on the walls. There was a smell of urine and excrement he hadn’t noticed until now, as if the presence of Gabriel had kept it at bay. Disgust ran through him.
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