The Paradise Prophecy

by Robert Browne

  And why had Ozan wanted to know about the pages? Were they somehow mixed in with his attempts to decipher those verses from Paradise Lost? And did it all relate in some way to this mysterious Telum?

  There was a connection here. There had to be.

  But Batty had too little information to figure it all out.

  So maybe he needed to start with Ozan’s and Gabriela’s obsession. In chapter eleven of Paradise Lost, the Archangel Michael takes Adam to the highest hill in Paradise and shows him a vision of the future. Adam witnesses the death and destruction of Noah’s flood, the rise of the tyrant Nimrod and the Tower of Babel, the deterioration caused by old age, the ravages of war and disease-all of which could be prevented if man were to live a virtuous life.

  But there were no secret messages to be found in that chapter. No codes to be deciphered. Batty himself had been through the book time and again and had never found anything.

  But then he suddenly remembered something. A small bit of curiosity he had set aside when things started getting crazy on the plane. Before Belial had hijacked Callahan and the plane started its nosedive, he had been looking through the manuscript, marveling at the ink on the pages, the words crossed out, the inserted revisions.

  But as he had flipped to the end of the book, he had noticed something odd. Something wrong with the binding.

  Something missing.

  Could it be that simple?

  Batty stopped in his tracks, fumbling for the book bag. As he reached inside and grabbed the manuscript, Callahan realized that he was no longer walking beside her and turned to look.

  “What is it? What’s wrong?”

  Batty found the stump of a fallen pine and sat, pulling the book into his lap. “I think I may have just figured it out.”

  She came over to him. “Figured what out?”

  He quickly flipped through the manuscript until he reached the last chapter-what would be chapters eleven and twelve in the revised version, but was actually chapter ten here. He checked the binding, saw the torn edges, as if several pages had been removed.

  “Is it possible?”

  “Is what possible? What’s going on?”

  He looked up at Callahan. “Ozan and Gabriela were trying to decipher the wrong chapter eleven.”

  “What do you mean the wrong chapter eleven? What other chapter eleven is there?

  “Paradise Lost was originally divided into ten chapters,” he told her. “Until the publisher asked Milton to split two of those chapters to make it seem longer and look more appealing to the readers.”

  He showed her the manuscript. “This is the original ten chapters.” He gestured to the torn binding. “But there are pages missing here. Torn out of the back of the book. But if you look at the verse, it’s complete. It ends exactly where it’s supposed to end.”

  A light came into Callahan’s eyes. “He wrote another chapter. The real chapter eleven.”

  “The right chapter eleven,” Batty said. “The one they should have been trying to decipher all along. And look how many pages are missing.”

  He handed her the book and she took a closer look at the binding, the torn edges, mentally counting them, moving her lips as she did. Then her eyes went wide.

  “Seven,” she said.

  “The seven missing pages of the Devil’s Bible. And this isn’t a coincidence. That has to be what was there.”

  “But that doesn’t make sense. Philip said Milton burned them, and look at these edges. This is the same paper he used in the rest of the manuscript. And you said the Codex’s pages were huge, and written several centuries before.”

  Batty thought about this and shook his head. “I don’t have an explanation, but I know I’m right. And this has something to do with the key Philip told us about. It’s a prophecy of some kind, an instruction manual-who knows?”

  “But you’d think if anyone would, it would be Ozan and Gabriela.”

  “No necessarily,” Batty said. “Like I told you before, they could be operating on blind faith. Remember that e-mail? And what Philip said about Ozan being a curious old fool?”

  Callahan shook her head and handed the book back to him. “We could sit here and speculate from now until doomsday-which, if you believe Brother Philip, is not that far away. But there’s no way we’ll be able to figure all this out unless we get one of the remaining guardians to spill. And the chances of that look pretty slim right now.”

  “Maybe not,” Batty said.

  “Do you know something I don’t?”

  “The e-mail to D.C., remember? The guardian who probably started you on this whole quest in the first place. The guy in the president’s administration.”

  “Hey, that was as much speculation as all this other stuff.”

  “I don’t think so,” Batty said. “And as soon as you can get reception on that cell phone of yours, I think you need you to call your people and set up a meeting.”

  “For what? You don’t know Section. They’re a closed shop.”

  “Say you want to discuss the Telum. If one of the guardians is behind this, he’s sure to swallow the bait.”

  “And if he does?”

  “I guess we’ll just have to wait and see what happens.”

  They were nearing civilization when Callahan got a signal.

  After dialing in her com-code, she waited a full ten minutes before the disembodied voice came on the line. “Yes?”

  “We have a situation.”

  “What sort of situation?”

  “I can’t go into much detail over the phone.”

  “This line is secure, Agent Callahan. You know that.”

  She did indeed. Section spent a considerable amount of time and money making sure it was secure, but that didn’t help her much right now.

  “I need a face-to-face,” she said. “And I’m bringing the asset with me.”

  “Impossible. Follow procedure and upload your report.”

  “We have to speak to whoever originated this assignment. Someone upstairs.”

  “That can’t be done. Even asking is a breach of protocol.”

  “Then breach it,” she said. “I guarantee he’ll want to hear from me. It’s about the Telum.”

  “The Telum?”

  “I don’t have time to explain. If you can’t handle my request, pass me along to someone who can.”

  There was hesitation on the line.

  “This is highest priority,” she insisted. “It doesn’t get any higher than this.”

  A long pause, then the voice said, “Wait for our call.”

  The line clicked and Callahan lowered the phone, looking over at LaLaurie, who was resting at the side of the trail. They made eye contact, his gaze hopeful, but she shook her head and gestured to the phone, indicating she was waiting for an answer.

  She knew her handler was passing the message along, and a flurry of calls would follow, sending it up the chain of command until someone who carried enough weight could figure out what to do with it.

  Fifteen minutes later, her phone rang and she put it to her ear. “Your request has been denied,” the voice said.

  “What? Did you tell them-”

  “Continue with the investigation, Agent Callahan, and report back to us.”

  Then the line clicked.

  BOOK IX

  The Evil that Men Do

  Deep to the Roots of Hell the gather’d beach

  They fasten’d, and the Mole immense wraught on

  Over the foaming deep high Archt, a Bridge

  Of length prodigious joyning to the Wall

  Immoveable of this now fenceless world

  Forfeit to Death

  -Paradise Lost, 1667 ed., IX:299-304

  38

  LOS ANGELES, CALIFORNIA

  Jenna wasn’t at the shelter.

  Michael had gone there to watch their morning ritual-the opening of the blinds, clearing away of cots, sweeping and mopping and setting up tables before heading into the kitchen to help pre
p food. And with the blood moon approaching, he had planned to make contact in a more meaningful way today, in hopes of getting Jenna to trust him.

  Instead, what he saw was a fresh new face among the handful of regulars, and he knew this wasn’t good. Space was limited here and this new girl could very well have taken Jenna’s slot.

  So where was she?

  Had she even spent the night? Or had Zack tried again?

  Something nasty fluttered in Michael’s stomach.

  A feeling of dread.

  Even though it couldn’t be helped, he cursed himself for leaving Jenna alone. His need for a new skin had not only compromised his ability to function in this broken world, but had also impaired his judgment-and Jenna (and the world) could well be paying the price.

  She was an innocent. An unsullied soul. A simple girl who had run away-not to rebel, but to escape an intolerable situation-and she hadn’t yet had time to adjust to her new surroundings. To understand the dangers she faced.

  To know the power she held inside her.

  And because of Michael’s weakness, his carelessness, she was gone before he could tell her who and what she was.

  He found the woman who ran the shelter on a smoke break in the alley out back. As he approached her, she took one look at him, saw a fit but aging man with gray hair, beard and fresh, new thrift-store clothes-including a well-seasoned army jacket-and immediately showed him her cell phone.

  “I’ve got the police on speed dial,” she said.

  “I just want to ask you some questions.”

  “I don’t have any money. And if you’re looking for food, you can come back tonight. We open at six.”

  “Thanks, but I’m not interested in that.”

  She stiffened slightly. “Then what?”

  “I saw you in the coffeehouse up the street a few nights ago. You were there with a young girl.”

  The woman’s eyes narrowed. “And?”

  “I know the girl’s been staying here at the shelter, but I haven’t seen her this morning. Did she spend the night last night?”

  “Why are you so interested?”

  “I think she may be the daughter of a friend of mine,” Michael lied. “A woman in Arizona.” He was making all kinds of compromises lately.

  “I would’ve approached her before now, but I had to be sure she was the right girl. Her mother’s dying.”

  The woman’s eyes widened slightly, but remained suspicious. She was used to being very protective of her girls.

  “That’s funny,” she told him. “We had a nice long talk that night and she didn’t mention anything about her mother being sick. All she talked about was her perv of a stepfather. That wouldn’t be you, would it?”

  “I told you, I’m a friend of her mother. And Jenna doesn’t know she’s sick. I don’t think she would’ve run away if she had.”

  The woman stared at him, assessing his story-assessing him-then slowly shook her head. “Sorry. I wish I could believe you, but I don’t.”

  “Then what can you tell me about the guy who was with her? The one who called himself Zack?”

  The eyes narrowed again. “How do you know all this? I don’t remember seeing you that night.”

  “I was there. Sitting in back.”

  “So…what? You’re some kind of stalker?”

  “I told you, I just want to do what’s right. Get Jenna back home. Now tell me about Zack.”

  “I think you need to get lost.”

  “I don’t want any trouble. Just tell me and I’m gone.”

  She sighed. “What’s to tell? He’s a creep. Uses those looks of his like a weapon. He was there, then he was gone. I haven’t seen him around since then and I don’t expect to, if he knows what’s good for him.”

  “Do you have any idea where he hangs out?”

  “Not a clue,” she said. Then she held up the phone again. “Now, do I have to make that call or what?”

  Michael spent the day wandering around Hollywood, hoping to pick up even the smallest of vibrations, but the world around him was chaotic and he couldn’t hear a thing.

  He’d gone back to the coffeehouse, and the Greyhound station, walked along Hollywood Boulevard, the Sunset Strip and several streets in between, but Jenna was nowhere to be found.

  He wondered if this new skin of his was making it difficult to hear her song. But that seemed unlikely, and its sudden absence made him doubt himself.

  Had he been wrong about her all along?

  Had he let his desire overtake his reason? His senses?

  He was, after all, directly related to Belial, and she was the queen of such behavior.

  But no. He didn’t think he was wrong.

  In fact, he knew he wasn’t. Sooner or later he’d hear that song again, as bright and clear as ever.

  At least he hoped he would.

  Because time was running out.

  It was late in the day when he finally got his wish.

  The moment the sound wafted through him, he felt a relief so intense it made his legs tremble. An odd reaction, certainly, but he wrote it off to the continuing struggle to get mind and body to work in harmony. Breaking in a new host was akin to a transplant patient adapting to a donated kidney.

  Or maybe it was the other way around.

  Whatever the case, Michael knew it would take time to fully adapt, and unexpected physical sensations were part of the territory.

  But none of that really mattered.

  He could hear Jenna’s song-as clear as can be-and all he cared about right now was that she was safe.

  Following the sound, he moved up Hollywood Boulevard and found himself standing across the street from the Rocket Bar amp; Grill, a modern take on an old fifties diner. She was right there in the front window, sitting at a booth with another young girl-one he recognized from the shelter-and they were laughing together like old friends.

  As Jenna sucked down the last of her Coke, the other girl dug through her purse for a few dollar bills and lay them on the table. Michael had no idea how the girl had managed to get the money, but the hardness of her face suggested the worst, and he hoped he was wrong.

  Before he could give it much thought, however, a battered blue Chevy Malibu pulled to a stop out front and honked its horn. Jenna’s new friend looked out the window and smiled, waving to the car as they both got to their feet and went to the door.

  Michael’s gaze shifted to the driver, a young punk of about twenty. He was trying to decide whether the guy was a drudge, when the punk moved his head and the person sitting next to him came into view:

  Zack.

  The sight of him sent a chill through Michael. He wasn’t sure how Zack had approached Jenna, but had a feeling he was using the other girl as a proxy. Someone to convince Jenna that, despite what the woman at the shelter had told her, Zack was actually a pretty good guy.

  Michael didn’t know if the friend herself was a drudge, but at this point it didn’t make much difference. Contact had been made and from the look on Jenna’s face as she stepped out of the diner’s front door, the ploy had worked. She was smiling as if she and Zack had known each other for decades.

  Zack climbed out of the car then, throwing the rear door open as the girlfriend got in front and Zack gestured for Jenna to hop in back.

  Michael knew he had to stop her.

  Couldn’t let her get into that car.

  And at this point, there was only one way to do it.

  “Jenna!” he called, waving a hand, his voice nearly drowned out by the traffic streaking by.

  She didn’t hear him.

  “Jenna!” he called out again, and this time Zack looked up sharply, staring at him with quizzical eyes.

  Michael needed to get over there. Now. But when he tried a jump, his body resisted. It wasn’t yet ready for lateral travel.

  He’d have to do this the old-fashioned way.

  Reaching under his jacket, he jerked his Glock free and headed across the street. Zack saw him comin
g and despite the change in appearance seemed to know exactly who he was.

  Grabbing hold of Jenna’s hand, he hurried her into the car and climbed in after her, closing them inside.

  “Jenna!” Michael shouted, as loud as he could.

  And as she settled into her seat, she heard him and turned, looking out her window at him, her face churning up in confusion.

  Who was this guy, and why had he just called her name?

  Now Zack was pounding on the back of the driver’s seat, shouting for his buddy to “Go! Go!”-

  – as Michael picked up speed and raised the Glock, ready to blow out one of the tires.

  Then, without warning, a horn blasted, long and loud, off to his right. Michael jerked his head around just in time to see a city bus bearing down on him, the driver frantically flashing his headlights.

  Michael dove to the blacktop and rolled as the bus came to a groaning halt, just inches from where he’d stood. Then tires screeched, horns honking wildly, as another car smashed into the back of the bus, several more piling up behind it.

  As Michael pulled himself upright and got to his feet, he saw the Malibu roaring down the boulevard.

  And there was Jenna, craning her neck, staring out the back window at him with wide, frightened eyes.

  39

  LAS VEGAS, NEVADA

  The first of the riots was in Sin City, of all places.

  No one was quite sure how it started, but the Vegas Strip and the hotels downtown were unusually crowded, and that may have had something to do with it. People from all over the world had packed the casinos, hoping to win it big and cash in on the American dream-a dream that seemed even more remote than usual. So the anxiety level was high and tempers were frayed.

  Rumor had it that it began with a simple altercation. Two tourists at odds over which slot machine belonged to whom-along with the three-million-dollar jackpot it was spewing. One of them claimed she’d been straddling two machines and had just turned away for a moment when the other came up and dropped the winning coins, thus robbing the straddler of the reward she surely had coming.