"Were? I still am." Poking my elbow, Michael asked, "Deidre, who called?"
"Mouse." I tried to sound casual. "He's in New York."
"Mouse? The Mouse?" Michael asked. "What did he want?"
"Nothing much." I shrugged. I wanted to do the Mouse meeting on my own, so I said, "He can't find his page and he wanted to know if I'd seen him."
"Uh-huh." Michael sounded unconvinced. "When we parted ways, you said you were going off to think. I take it you did more than that?"
"Tons." I gnawed on a carrot stick. "I'm not sure I believe you have no idea what's been going on here, Michael. I mean, don't you two have some kind of angelic network to keep up on each other's activities?"
Michael blushed.
I set the carrot down half-eaten. "Don't you?"
Eyes downcast, he whispered into his chest. "Deidre."
There was accusation in his tone; I'd said something wrong. I shook my head in confusion.
Michael's jaw flexed. His eyes snaked over to Raphael, then back to his plate of untouched food. Through clenched teeth, he said, "I told you I haven't been back."
Raphael cleared his throat noisily. "If you need a report, Captain?"
"That won't be necessary." Brisk, Michael's real command voice reminded me of Rebeckah.
"Sir?"
"If you'd excuse us, Raphael."
"Yes, sir." Raphael took his plate and stood up. I watched openmouthed as he did as Michael directed.
After Raphael found another table to join, I said, "I don't get it. What on earth was all that about?"
" 'What on earth'? No, not about earth." Michael grimaced at his cup of coffee. I had yet to see him actually ingest any food. Snapping his head to the side to look at me, his eyes flashed with anger. "I thought I explained things to you, Deidre. Now Raphael knows."
"Knows what?" Facing him, I scooted my chair into the space Raphael had vacated. "That you haven't been back? What difference does that make?"
"I have never once strayed a single iota from the directives God assigned me. Since Morningstar left us, I have been Their right hand, the arrow most likely to hit the mark." His words pounded me almost physically. "I spent the last twenty-four hours doing nothing – a delicious, precious nothing, but a nothing all the same."
"But, I mean, doesn't God already know that, Michael?" During the barrage of Michael's words, I'd backed the chair up until the legs tangled with Raphael's empty one. I couldn't retreat anymore, so I added: "Isn't He all-knowing? It's not like you can lie to Him, is it?"
Piercing me with a fierce gaze, he said, "It is, if I never go back."
"You would do that? Michael, what's happened to you?"
"I ..." The hard cast of Michael's face melted a little. Then, pushing his elbows onto the edge of the table, he frowned into his clasped hands. "You wouldn't understand."
"You're right." I settled back to my food. Picking up a hard roll, I bit into it. "I don't get what's so great about being human. What do we do, but mark time until we die? Doesn't seem worth coming to blows with God over, you know?"
"It is," Michael said grimly. "It wouldn't be the first time heaven was rent in two over humanity."
"Hmm, I suppose not." I chewed thoughtfully, and washed the bread down with a sip of Raphael's abandoned milk. "But, while you've been plotting the second war in heaven, I may have figured out who the LINK-Michael is."
"What?" The fork that almost reached his lips came down with a slam. "When? How long have you known?"
"Mouse has a copy of Phanuel in his hub."
Michael's eyebrows raised expectantly.
I shook my head. "I suspect that Mouse boosted tech from an outfit known as the Jordan Institute to create the LINK-angels." I thought of the phone call. Mouse had seemed so pleasant, so non-threatening. I could still be wrong about him. "But we shouldn't jump the gun."
Michael snorted. "But why else would he have a copy of an angel in his hub?"
"To scare off other hackers?" I suggested.
"Doesn't that seem a bit excessive?" Michael asked.
"It does. And, as far as I know Kantowicz and I were the first-ever uninvited guests."
"But you suspect Mouse is the originator of the LINK-angels?"
I nodded.
"This is great." Michael smiled, relaxing. Finally, a forkful of peas made it into his mouth. "You're really on to something."
I shook my head. "I'm not so sure. Some things don't quite sit right for me. What bugs me about my theory is that the page said he tried to boomerang the LINK-angels. Why would he do that if Mouse is the originator?"
"Maybe Mouse doesn't know what the page has been doing – or vice versa."
"The page is Mouse's construct. How could he not know?"
Michael snorted a sad laugh. "A parallel situation jumps quickly to mind."
"Michael, you're completely different from an AI."
"Am I?" His face pinched up, and he looked away. Picking up his fork, he poked at the potatoes on his plate. "No, I'm exactly like the page. A program with sentience. A construct of a higher being. A messenger; an 'errand boy,' just as Morningstar said."
His shoulders scrunched, and his face tightened even further. I put my hand on his shoulder. "Isn't being an angel much more ..." I searched for the appropriate word, "I don't know ... glorious ... than that?"
Michael's voice was soft, but I could hear a distant thunder in his words. "When I threw Sammael out of heaven I was filled with a holy passion. I shouted: 'I am Michael, who is like God!' " His eyes sparkled with the memory. Then, he laughed and dropped his head slightly. "Sure, there were moments of glory – if war and carnage can, in fact, be glorious. I've tasted the other side now and find I'm tired of carrying the heavy sword of vengeance."
The word "vengeance" reminded me of earlier conversations with Michael. "But you came here on your own this time, you said, to stop Letourneau from using your name."
"That's not entirely true." Michael sighed. "I find the sin of omission easier than lying."
"Don't we all."
He rewarded me with a tired smile. "Yes, I guess we do. Truth is, I came to you on my own, but the Four were deployed to infiltrate the believers – to bring the truth to light."
"The believers? The Four?"
"Archangels." Michael's attention drifted away, then, he laughed. "You know, I might feel badly for straying, but Uriel has really missed the mark. Last I heard from him, he was embracing our dual sexuality and calling himself by a woman's name."
"Ariel."
"That's it exactly. How did you know?"
"Daniel met an Ariel in prison."
"Indeed." He shrugged. "I guess I'm the only one off the mark."
"You found me." I asked, "Wasn't that your assignment?"
"My assignment was to find the perpetrator of the LINK-angels myth. You've done that for me."
I rubbed his shoulder. There were things I wanted to say to comfort him, but instead what came out was: "Does that mean Ariel's assignment was Daniel? But why?"
He shook his head sadly. "The plan is only clear to me above, or as it reveals itself, not before. I have a murky sense of the bigger picture, but the longer I'm away – the more it fades. I would tell you, Dee, if I knew."
"I know."
Michael's eyes searched mine, but I had nothing to say. I couldn't understand what he was going through. It was well out of the realm of my experience.
Over Michael's shoulder, I saw Raphael in the buffet line. He had one hand on the arm of an older man, a rabbi it seemed to me, supporting him. They were engaged in an animated conversation, and Raphael's strongly lined features broke out into a kind grin. The strength Raphael exuded warmed me even from this distance.
"Michael, maybe you just need some time with Raphael to get back on track, you know?" – I hated myself for lying to him – "I need some time to say good-bye to Daniel in my own way. Let's plan to meet up in a couple of hours at my office, okay?"
"Where are you g
oing?"
"Nowhere," I said lamely. It was such a bad lie that I couldn't look Michael in the eye.
"I'm coming with you." Michael's voice sharpened with determination.
"You don't even know where I'm going," I protested.
"Last time you said you were just going out for a walk, I had to go looking for you."
Mouse would bolt if I brought Michael along to the meeting, but I didn't really want to be alone right now. The funeral had left me feeling drained and, despite his tendency toward unnerving conversation, Michael's presence comforted me.
"I just got you back," Michael continued. "I'm not willing to let you out of my sight just yet."
"Can you be invisible?" I asked. "I mean, angelically?"
He shook his head. "Only at great cost. Why?"
"You can come as far as my office, then I need to be on my own for a little while..." I sighed. What was the point of keeping the truth from him? "I'm meeting Mouse. I need to do that alone."
He brightened at my words, and nodded. "Okay. Should you need to get ahold of me after we part, though ... take this. ..." From the inside pocket of his jacket, Michael pulled out a scrap of paper. "Earlier, at his apartment, Jibril gave me some numbers. He said you would understand how to use them."
I looked at the crumpled piece of newsprint. A LINK address, phone number, and access pass code were printed in a swirling, flourished hand. "Where did you get all of this?"
Michael shrugged. "Jibril is the patron saint of telecommunications."
I blinked. I looked back at the numbers, then up at Michael. Patiently, I waited for Michael to start laughing and to let me in on the joke. When he started picking at the peas on his plate, I cleared my throat. "No, seriously, where did you get these? Are they safe?"
Michael's eyes roamed my face, measuring me. "There are simply some things that stretch your ability to believe, aren't there, Deidre?"
"Most things about you, big guy, shake what little faith I have," I admitted.
He nodded. "I'm going to borrow some armor. We'll meet out front by the marquee."
"See you there." I smiled.
His lips brushed my cheek, a kiss so soft it was like the tickle of a feather. To my surprised expression, he said, "For luck."
Despite myself, I laughed. "What kind of luck am I going to have with a kiss like that?"
I pulled him close. My fingers prickled against his short, nubby hair at the back of his neck. Though his lips were cool, they didn't lack in passion. I shut my eyes, feeling the fire deep within the shell he wore. There was something there, something I could touch, after all. When we separated, I was smiling. I ran my hand along the sharp line of his jaw. "Much better."
"I never want to leave you."
I put my finger on his lip, hushing him. "I appreciate the sentiment, Michael." I tried to ease the harshness from my words with a smile. "But I should warn you, I don't go for that kind of devotion, even from men who aren't angels."
With a frustrated laugh, he shook his head. "Okay," he said around my finger. Taking my hand in his, he kissed my finger. "I'll see you in ten minutes."
"Ten." I smiled after him.
From his place in the buffet line, Raphael watched Michael go like a jealous lover. Then, our eyes met. Raphael stepped out of line and headed for me. I quickly gathered up my plates and tray: I had a sense Raphael had questions for me I didn't want to answer. I could feel Raphael's eyes on my back as I pushed my way to where the Malachim were gathering up dirty dishes. I dumped the contents of my tray in the bins and headed for the door. A hand on my shoulder stopped me.
"Deidre." Raphael's voice was loud in my ear.
"Raphael." As I turned, I put on a friendly smile, which faded when I saw the stern look in Raphael's eyes.
"What's going on with Michael?"
I considered batting my eyelashes and playing the fool, but as fire flashed in Raphael's eyes, I reconsidered. "Well ... Michael's in a kind of crisis, I guess. He's doing a lot of thinking."
"Michael? A crisis?" Raphael's tight anger softened into concern. "What kind of crisis?"
"I think I'm pregnant."
Raphael's dark brown eyes widened, and his frown deepened. The sun-cracked lines of his face drew in tightly around his mouth. "I see. Congratulations, then."
"You're surprised, too?" A sense of relief filled me. Maybe I wasn't part of the divine plan, after all. "Michael says the child isn't necessarily the messiah. What do you think?"
Raphael's jaw flexed, and the Christmas lights in the ceiling reflected in the silver in his hair. "What do I think? I think this is crazy, and you must be some kind of woman to pull Michael from the path."
"I'll take that as a compliment. What about the baby, Raphael? Is it possible?"
He shrugged. "In the beginning, there have been other children with the Sons of God, none of whom became 'messiahs.' " His eyebrows drew together fiercely. "But no archangel was involved in that."
"What about Jibril and Mary?"
"Ah, the great exception." Raphael shook his head and smiled. "But, even though he talked about his father in heaven, if you recall, the only title Jesus claims for himself is 'Son of Man.' "
This conversation was getting away from me. I could feel my pulse quicken. "Wait a minute. 'Exception'? Are you telling me there are messiahs other than Jesus?"
Raphael shrugged. "Finding messiahs and angels is the easy part, Deidre. Truly listening to them and discerning the truth? That's what's difficult."
The Gorgons being mostly nocturnal, Michael and I managed to avoid running into any of them on our way through the glass city. I shifted my backpack, so that it stopped rubbing my shoulder blades. I'd packed Danny's Bible, a water bottle, some food, and a few barter items in case of trouble.
"The city is beautiful in the daylight," Michael said.
I nodded as we paused a moment on the bridge into Harlem and let the sun wash over us. The sun warmed me, dancing on the waves beneath the steel-and-glass trusses of the bridge. I held my breath to the stench of the river, and savored the sensation of leaving behind the glass for the concrete of the city.
In another ten blocks, we could enter the relative safety of the skyway system. I headed down Fifth Avenue, toward Central Park. Michael followed, now dressed in an Israeli uniform. He was really beginning to look the part of a warrior prince. The blue-screen blue brought out the olive in his skin, and the sunlight caressed the soft curls framing his hard-angled face.
In a matter of blocks, people began appearing on the streets. The on switch of the holographic armor sizzled as I flipped into virtual invisibility. Despite a noisy startup, the holographic defense settled into a quiet operating hum, clearly more happy mimicking concrete than glass. We stuck close to the walls to avoid conflicting my overtaxed armor.
Harlem had achieved another kind of renaissance, this one of a more scientific bent. Because of Harlem's proximity to the glass city and lack of law-enforcement presence, many rogue scientists had taken up residence among those too poor to move away. I'd heard about the street culture that had emerged here, but, as a cop, I'd never been privileged to witness it firsthand. Indians, Asians, Blacks and the occasional white face sat on stoops and congregated just outside of bustling street cafes, talking. Regardless of nationality, white lab coats were the fashion. Along with the mussed hair and dark-framed-glasses look, men and women proudly strutted in their professional regalia. Unable to discuss certain sciences on the LINK, like geography and biology, which might clash with Biblical interpretations, those living here had reverted to an old-fashioned forum – the coffeehouse. There were hundreds of restaurants, cafes, coffeehouses, and bakeries up and down the street. By the looks of the crowds, the restaurants were open twenty-four hours. Everywhere I looked the conversation was heated. People gesticulating in the air on the corner. Inside one storefront, a group was hunched over someone drawing frantically on a paper napkin.
Bicycles and battery-powered vehicles filled the stre
ets. On the roof, someone experimented with gliders. The constant movement and activity around me made me jittery.
The skyways had been built to absorb human noise, but here every action had a reaction, and the buildings bounced every noise back onto the street. The chaotic energy frightened me. As I slipped past a bakery filled with shouting voices, I made the sign of the cross. It was these sorts of people who created the Medusa bomb and brought about the end of hundreds of lives. Yet, there was undeniable energy here. Every excited voice echoed a primordial heartbeat that filled the streets.
As we approached the entrance to the service tunnel, I noticed a commotion. Just in front of the tunnel's opening, a ragged man stood on a crate. His hair stood on end, and he wore pin-striped pants and a terry-cloth robe. His gestures were more wild and frantic than those of the Harlem residents, but his shouts were evenly paced, almost rhythmical. Most of the scientists on the streets ignored him, but a couple of interested people had gathered around to heckle.
"You should accept Jesus Christ as your personal savior," the preacher shouted. "Science is sin, and you will rot in hell for your injustices against humanity."
The crowd let out a muffled laugh. "And what of Kali?" someone asked. "What does She say about science?"
Invisible, Michael and I slid along the wall. I moved slowly, as my helmet's sensors informed me that the holographic armor was approaching overload. The processors' hiss sounded loud to my ears, but no one seemed to notice us creeping forward toward the door.
"Jezebel."
As if someone had called me by name, I froze.
"Jezebel." The name slid from between the preacher's chapped lips like a lover's caress. When I looked up, his bulging eyes stared directly at me, pinning me to the wall. The people who had gathered stared in our direction as well, though less focused.
I recognized the preacher. This was the same man who'd set up shop outside my office every day like clockwork since the excommunication. I'd never really looked at him before, but his whiskey-scratched, rasping voice was familiar enough.
"Morningstar," Michael said.
* * *
Excerpt from the New York Times, August 24, 2076. This transmission was recorded at 1500 in Colorado. It is available on the Times' main page. The Times recommends Virtual Reality replay for best results.
Archangel Protocol Page 27