"I know. But we need proof that he is involved with the LINK-angels."
Michael grunted his assent. Discarded food containers, pop cans, and the increased profusion of Christmas lights revealed that we were moving deeper into the city. We traveled like this until we reached the Lower East Side. There we parted ways, with Michael promising to watch over me.
* * *
As I approached the office building, Mouse waved from the stoop. I'd turned off the holographic defense a block away when I was certain he was alone. I could hear the whiz of cars in the tunnels above, but here on the Lower East Side we were the only people on the streets.
Mouse pulled himself to his feet and began walking toward me. It was strange to see him in the flesh again. His skin was darker than I remembered, and his hair more unkempt. Dark sunglasses hid his eyes. Several layers of mismatched clothes hung off his short but lanky frame, and though I could see the shadow of stubble on his chin, he looked like a perpetual teenager.
"Hey, you." Mouse smiled, pulling the sunglasses down to give me a rakish once-over. "Looking different, definitely more wicked, but I like; it suits you."
I came here for a confrontation, but I found myself smiling in return. "Did you ever find your page?"
"Nah. Must've gone rogue on me." He shrugged, thumbing the glasses back in place. "He'll stumble back when he wants to come home."
"Huh. I suppose he will," I said, thinking of Michael's similar situation. I wondered if, right now, God was shrugging off Raphael's questions with similar unconcern.
"Yeah. ... Say, could we go inside? I thought I saw a cop car a while back, and well, honestly, I've got to pee like nobody's business."
I laughed. When he talked like that, I had a hard time perceiving Mouse as much of a threat. "Sure," I said, leading the way. "The toilet is down the hall from my office, but it works."
I stood staring at the heavy oak door and the brass lock. The keyhole dripped with an oily sheen, and I smelled the light tang of lubricant. On the other side of the door, someone coughed. I'd started to put my eye to the keyhole to confirm my suspicions, when Mouse put a hand on my shoulder.
"What's up?" Mouse said, "I thought you'd be in by now, starting some coffee. I'm dying for a cup."
"No wonder you've always got to pee," I smiled, but the warmth had gone from my voice. Returning my attention to the lock, I shook my head. I couldn't take a chance if Mouse was intending ambush. "No keys. I left my keys at Eion's church. I wanted a change of clothes, but ... Well, now that you've gone to the bathroom I guess we can talk anywhere."
Mouse nodded. His eyebrows twitched, and he chewed his lip.
I started to back down the hallway.
"Nah, it's okay," Mouse said. Reaching into the pocket of his jeans, he knelt near the lock. As his hand removed the thin oddly shaped metal bars from his pocket, his shirt stretched to reveal the butt of a gun. "I've got tools."
"Mmm-hm." I agreed through thinly pressed lips. Slamming the helmet on, I touched the button to engage my holographic armor. "If you've got the tools, Mouse," I asked, even though I knew the answer, "why didn't you let yourself in earlier?"
"Who's to say I didn't?" Lockpicks in his right hand, he grabbed the pistol with his left. He spun around.
I inched along the wall, heading for the door.
"Stop right there. Don't think I can't see you, girl," Mouse said. The gun was pointed right at me; his finger rested on the trigger.
"The sunglasses." I said. "Shit. Of course. Infrared?"
"Give the woman a medal." Keeping the gun flawlessly trained on me; Mouse tucked the lockpicks into the front pocket of his shirt.
"Ambidextrous, as well," I said, pulling off the helmet and disabling the armor. I was careful to leave the LINK filament in place against my temple. "Seems I forgot a lot about you."
"I have many gifts." He inclined his head slightly, and splayed the fingers of his right hand, a gesture of modesty.
I nodded, with a defeated sigh. I pressed my back against the wall, letting the helmet rest against the curve of my elbow. "Are you planning to gun me down here? It doesn't really seem your style, Mouse."
"It's not really, and, honestly, Dee, I don't want to kill you. I'd much rather you were safely tucked away somewhere until everything is settled." He eyed me through the combat sights. "Speaking of people I thought safely tucked away, where's Daniel?"
"Daniel? Why does everybody want Daniel?"
Mouse perked up and gave me a wide-eyed look over the gun. "Who else wanted Daniel?"
"A transvestite named Ariel."
Mouse laughed. "You're kidding."
I shook my head, while carefully testing the weight of the helmet in my arm. If I aimed just right, I could knock the gun out of Mouse's hand. Problem was, I only had one chance. If I missed, I was dead. I needed another distraction.
"What's so hot about Daniel?" I asked.
Mouse cocked his head in lieu of a shrug. "Just tell me where he is."
"Yankee Stadium or the police morgue." I tried to sound flippant, but grief snagged my voice. "He's dead, Mouse."
His eyebrows raised in surprise. "Really?"
I nodded.
"Huh. Really?" I nodded again. He sighed, "I tell you, I'm off-line for eight hours and the whole universe changes. When did that happen? How?"
The image of Daniel's ashen face threatened to blur my vision. I shook my head and clipped my voice in order to keep my emotions in check. "Police sniper. Last night."
"No shit," Mouse breathed, standing up. "So it's over."
That sounded bad. "Over? What's over?"
"My archnemesis is dead."
"Daniel?"
Mouse frowned. "Of course, who else? He's the one who tripped that first alarm. He's the one who nearly brought me down a year ago. He's the bastard who broke into mouse.net last night." Something in my eyes must have made Mouse question his train of thought. He stared at me and then added, "Right?"
The barrel of the gun dipped toward the floor. Taking a quick half step out from the wall, I tossed the helmet at Mouse, underhand. My luck was off, but the helmet managed to knock Mouse's arm to the right, across his body. A bullet exploded from the gun. I felt the ejected, hot brass casing smack me in the arm.
A cascade of plaster dust and wood splinters fell around us. Though my ears were ringing, I rushed toward Mouse. He recovered quicker than I, and I'd only managed to take two steps before I was looking down the barrel of the gun.
"Oh, Deidre," Mouse said sadly. "I really liked you."
"I like you too, Mouse," I said.
The gun trembled in his hands. Mouse was sincere when he'd said he didn't want to kill me. I decided to call his bluff. "Do it already."
Mouse's mouth hung open at my taunting words. What the hell, I thought, either God wants me alive or dead.
"Come on, boy, pull the trigger," I said. "And do me a favor, will you?" I pointed to my abdomen. "Aim right here."
"You want to die?" Mouse's voice was a whisper.
"Live or die, it doesn't matter. You and your little cronies think they started the Second Coming, but yours is a hoax. I am the fucking Holy Mother." I let a hysterical laugh bubble up out of the tight place I kept my emotions.
Mouse's eyes were wide. I stepped forward until the gun pressed up against my chest.
"Stay back. I'm not afraid to shoot you," Mouse squeaked.
"Good. I'd hate for you to miss the mark, like so many of the other boys in my life."
I stood close enough to smell the leather and patchouli that was Mouse's scent. There was something oddly familiar about it: dangerous, but comfortable.
In a minute, I could put my hand on the gun ... or he would shoot me point-blank, either way the crisis would be resolved. I honestly wasn't sure which I preferred.
"You're crazy," Mouse whispered through clenched teeth. His eyes narrowed as he took aim.
I nodded; oblivion was a pleasant option. I shut my eyes, and waited.
Excerpt from Letourneau's main page. August 25, 2076
CLASSIC!
I'm not surprised to find Rabbi-Senator Grey resorting to character assassination during these last few months of the presidential campaign. When this campaign was focused on the issues, Grey's popularity was in the toilet. Seeing this, he began to systematically attempt to tear down my good name.
Let me take this opportunity to remind the people what the Letourneau platform stands for: we support the expansion of the LINK. Those of you who have toured the Letourneau future have seen what our nation can become if we release restrictions on LINK-businesses. We have supported American businesses by opposing a direct union with Christendom. However, we would like to forge an economic tie to the Vatican that would strengthen the Free Credit and encourage the flow of Christendom and Islam credits into the American free marketplace.
The Grey platform is a bleeding-heart platform. My opponent wants to funnel US money to those godless ones who are outside of the LINK. He is obsessed with real time to the detriment of the foundation that our economic power is based on – the LINK. I want to concentrate on the issues that will strengthen us in the global economy, Grey wants to turn inward and gaze at our collective belly button.
I refuse to be goaded by Grey's immoral behavior.
Secular presidential candidates often employed these kinds of mud-slinging tactics before this great nation saw the light and became a theocratic republic.
I do not need to prove myself to anyone. It is clear that I exist. I am a duly elected senator from Colorado, and for the last two years I have been the Senate Majority Leader. Moreover, God has chosen me.
Grey has pointed to my lack of need for human trappings such as a dentist or a doctor, and I say, this is further proof that I am what the LINK-angels have said I was ... My body is a temple, a spotless, flawless temple.
Open your hearts. Pray for guidance. God will answer: Vote Letourneau.
Chapter 21
"Martyrdom, Deidre?" A familiar voice drawled, "Doesn't really seem your style, somehow."
I opened my eyes to see Morningstar's hand over the hammer of the pistol. Mouse's brown face looked gray, but he still held on to the gun with whitened knuckles.
"Allah protect me," Mouse said.
Morningstar said something in another language – judging from Mouse's expression, it was probably Arabic. Though I didn't understand Morningstar's words, the tone was clearly a warning.
Mouse's eyes narrowed. Straightening his back, he asked, "Oh yeah? And who the fuck are you?"
"My deus ex machina, apparently." I sighed, my shoulders relaxing. "Interesting timing, Morningstar."
"Morningstar? The Mafia guy?" Mouse asked. The two of them were a study in contrast: Morningstar in his Armani suit and Mouse in his ragged street clothes.
"I'm surprised the two of you don't know each other," I said.
"Do we look like we hang out in the same circles?" Morningstar said, wrestling the gun from Mouse with a sudden jerking motion. He pointed the barrel at Mouse, "Run back to your hole, little rodent. The lady and I have things to discuss."
Having regained his composure, Mouse's eyes narrowed as though he were considering the merits of Morningstar's demand.
"What are you waiting for?" Morningstar flicked the gun in a shooing motion. "Get your tail in gear."
"Okay." Mouse shrugged. He rested one hand on the doorknob to my office. "Just let me get my things."
"There's someone in there," I said, certain.
A cold smile spread across Mouse's lips. "An ambush? You must really think the worst of me. I just want my duffel bag."
Morningstar snapped his arm taut, and the gun hovered inches from Mouse's face. "I don't remember offering you a choice," Morningstar said. "But, I will now: go or die."
Mouse raised his hand off the doorknob and lifted both arms in surrender. "No problem," he said, backing up. "I'm gone."
"Good," Morningstar said with a sneer. "I never liked rats."
Mouse nodded. His lips pressed tight, as though he wanted to trade insults, but thought better off it. To me he said, "We'll finish what we started, Dee."
"I don't think so, Mouse," I said flatly. "Apparently God has other plans for me, and He wants me alive."
"Insh'allah," Mouse said, reaching the door. Our eyes stayed locked until he slipped behind the oak panel and out into the street.
I glanced at Morningstar. "Michael was supposed to be close at hand. How'd you end up here?"
"Michael is afraid of power. Power corrupts, don't you know? If he was willing to use a miracle or two now and again, he could have known you were in trouble." Morningstar cocked his head at me, curiously. "So, you see me doing God's work, do you?"
I shrugged, picking up the helmet from where it had rolled during the scuffle. "Aren't you?"
He nodded, but kept his mysterious smile. "Sometimes pain is a good teacher." Jerking his chin in the direction Mouse had fled, he asked, "Should I have killed him, you think?"
"I don't know," I said, honestly. Shaking the plaster dust out of my hair, I added, "He doesn't seem like much of a threat, does he? But he might just be counting on that, you know? That no one takes him seriously."
"Well, I take ambush seriously." Morningstar waved the gun in the direction of the office. "You said there were others?" I nodded. His chestnut brown eyes flashed with mischievousness. "Then, we should take care of them, shouldn't we?"
Edging along the wall toward the door, Morningstar held the gun pointed toward the ceiling with his finger, I was glad to notice, off the trigger. When he stood in front of the door, he raised his foot.
"Wait. It's open!" I shouted, as the force of Morningstar's blow sent the door swinging back against the wall with a bang. I shook my head. Between the bullet hole in the hall and the smashed door, there was no way I'd be getting my security deposit back for this place.
Morningstar leapt dramatically into the room, swinging the gun this way and that. I peeked around the edge of the doorway in time to see the last of Mouse's heavies, who looked preteen, scurry out the open window onto the fire escape.
"Damn." Morningstar sighed, dropping his arms. "I was so looking forward to a fight."
"You could always run after him," I said dismissively, half-hoping he would. I walked over to my desk, laid my helmet down, and shrugged out of the backpack. Everything seemed to be where I left it. I straightened the picture of Eion and smoothed out a few of the hard-copy sheets that poked out from under the blotter. I looked up from the inspection of my desk to see Morningstar eyeing me curiously.
"What are you doing here, anyway?" I asked.
"God's work, as you said." Morningstar tucked the gun in his waistband. "We can't have angel-baby splattered all over the wall, now can we?"
I froze. My heart ticked against my eardrums. I looked up from my desk to see Morningstar grinning broadly at me. "You know about the baby?"
Morningstar leaned against the window frame. "God and I are still very tight. Unlike some."
"Liar", I said through clenched teeth.
Despite my accusation, he seemed unflustered. "So many people call me that. I suppose it's because it's easier to think of the painful truth as a lie." Morningstar arched a thin, red eyebrow. "But, I'm curious. Which part do you imagine incorrect: the fact that I'm still allowed in heaven, or that Michael is not as close to God as he once was?"
I took a deep breath and shook my head. "Everyone has assured me that God isn't involved with this baby."
"I see." Morningstar sighed patiently. "I suppose, instead, those angel boys have been going on about freewill. Did anyone use the archer metaphor? I love that one."
My forehead felt hot. Hoping the chair was behind me, I sat down without looking. I lucked out, and my butt connected with the hard wood with a smack.
"Ah, I see they have," Morningstar said. "You do know, don't you, that Jibril was the father to your favorite prophet? Did you thin
k the parallel was mere coincidence?"
My throat was dry, and I tried to swallow. "Everyone," I managed to say, "everyone told me that it wasn't important. That there were others who weren't messiahs."
"Yes. That bothersome reference to the 'Sons of God' in Genesis 6:2-4 taking mortal wives." Morningstar nodded reflectively. The greenish glow from the street made a sickly nimbus around his head and shoulders. "As in the later reference in Enoch, I'm afraid that's just my boys up to no good. We're still sons of God, even if we aren't his current favorites, you know. But, perhaps you can see why a certain bias was placed against the idea of their children becoming prophets."
I shook my head; I had no idea what he was talking about. My mind focused on one thing. "Why would Raphael lie to me?"
"It's not really a lie not to tell all the gory details."
"The sin of omission. Michael said he found it easier."
Morningstar nodded his head, and his eyes glowed warmly, compelling me to believe what he was saying.
I raked my fingers through my hair. I was beginning to feel like Morningstar was the only angel who didn't try to keep the truth from me. I rubbed the bridge of my nose with my finger. My instincts rebelled at the idea of trusting Satan. After all, hundreds of stories warned about allowing yourself to be seduced, and here I was falling for his act. I had to try to think this through. I shook my head.
"But, I don't get it," I said finally. "Why would they let me think that my baby was an accident? Wouldn't the archangels want me to know the pregnancy was part of God's plan?"
"Aren't you feeling betrayed? Used? Suckered?"
My lips thinned. With all of Michael's talk of freewill, I'd forgotten how angry I'd been when I first thought I'd be the new Holy Mother. All those feelings boiled to the surface at Morningstar's prompting. I took a deep breath trying to push down the bitterness, but a little bit slipped past my defenses. "No one asked me."
Morningstar pounced on my weakness. He stood up slowly, unfurling like a wing.
"Of course they didn't. It's passe. The whole 'appointed by God' shtick went out in the Middle Ages. Anyway, I suppose my dearest brother figured you'd be more pliant if you didn't know – less likely to do something rash, like throw yourself in front of a loaded gun."
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