Azrael

by William L. DeAndrea

  But there was more than that at stake. Trotter had sworn long ago to fight Cronus, and to help all his brothers and sisters, those who’d been born to be used. Regina was one of them, and she was the key to her mother’s future. The revelations of Petra Hudson could make Cronus too hot to use, but in order to put the message across, Petra Hudson had to have enough interest in life to convince Congress and the Press she didn’t doubt the truth of her own story. The Petra Hudson he’d left a few minutes ago, the one who “should have known better,” could never pull it off.

  Trotter wanted Cronus destroyed; he wanted Regina Hudson to live. The world was a lot easier to care about with his Little Bash in it.

  He smiled at the thought. The world with his Little Bash in it was worth dying for.

  Chapter Four

  THE MAN WITH HIS back to the door (it had to be Trotter) was smiling.

  Roger knew it was a false smile, bravado, designed to upset him. He resolved not to let it.

  “Mr. Trotter,” he said. “Stand aside, please.”

  “Let’s talk for a minute.”

  “Stand aside. I don’t want to hurt Miss Hudson.”

  “Damn right, you don’t. The second you do, you are ground round. I promise you that personally.”

  “I have the gun, Mr. Trotter. You seem to be unarmed.”

  “I don’t have a gun. But I’m about the only government employee in this building who doesn’t. It’s only respect for Miss Hudson that keeps them from killing you now, and that won’t last.”

  “You’re talking as if you have a suggestion to make.”

  “I do. Take me instead.”

  “Why should I?”

  “Better for you. Not to brag, or anything, but I’m important. I assume you know why you were sent to kill Smolinski.”

  “I know.” It had been one of the things Control insisted on telling him. They feared this Trotter. They were afraid to make him angry. If the Russians had so much respect for him, our own government would probably do anything to keep him safe. Much more, in the perverted way Godless governments had of looking at things, than they would to save an innocent girl. Furthermore, it would allow him to risk the life of a spy, whose soul was undoubtedly a catalog of sins, rather than Miss Hudson’s. It looked like a good offer. It looked too good.

  “All right,” Roger said, “that’s why I should do this. Why should you?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “You know what I mean. Why are you putting your life in danger?”

  “It’s embarrassing,” Trotter said. He sounded apologetic.

  Roger had no more time to waste playing games. “If it’s too embarrassing, then, never mind. Move aside.”

  “I’m in love with Miss Hudson. I’m not supposed to leave myself open for emotions like that, but I am. I’d do anything to protect her, it’s as corny and as simple as that.”

  Miss Hudson said, “Allan.” It was the first time she had spoken since he’d baptized the dead FBI man.

  “And love embarrasses you?” Roger said. He would never understand how these men survived such an evil existence.

  “It’s against my training,” Trotter said.

  “Why should I believe you?”

  Anger flashed in Trotter’s eyes. “Show a little Faith, Reverend.”

  It was ironic. A man like that reminding Roger to have Faith. He used his faith now, taking a few seconds to think and pray. The Lord gave him a plan.

  “Here,” he said, “is what I am willing to do. You will stand aside from the door. Miss Hudson will open the door and stand in the open doorway. You will drop to your hands and knees and align yourself in a straight line with her. Miss Hudson will walk backward across the catwalk. You will crawl. I will follow. I will give Miss Hudson a ten-to fifteen-foot head start. When she reaches the door at the other end of the catwalk, she may go through, and go wherever she likes, and I’ll proceed with your valuable self, Mr. Trotter. Until the far side of the catwalk, if you attempt to do anything but what I tell you, I will shoot Miss Hudson. If she does anything, I’ll shoot you. If anyone else tries to interfere, any of Mr. Rines’s men or anyone else, I’ll shoot you both. Is that clear?”

  Now Trotter was thinking. “It’s clear enough,” he said. He did not look happy.

  “Do you agree, Mr. Trotter?” Roger demanded.

  Trotter’s face was sour. “I wish I’d gotten to know you better. Why didn’t you ring the bell when you dumped Hannah Stein’s body in my hallway? Why’d you dump her there at all?”

  “Did you baptize her, too?” Regina Hudson asked.

  “Of course he did,” Trotter said. “That’s why everybody’s hair was wet. Mr. Nelson wouldn’t just kill somebody and leave them naked to the powers of hell. What kind of Christian would that be?”

  “A very poor one,” Roger said. “She left the house that night specifically to meet me. I was instructing her. She was a good girl. And I left her in your hallway on orders. They wanted to try to tie you up with the police, to distract you until they attained their objective. Apparently, Mrs. Hudson continued to surprise them with her stubbornness, and anyway, the police weren’t interested in you. Now, are we done wasting time? Do you accept my offer?”

  “What if I don’t?”

  “If you don’t, you stand aside, and I proceed with Miss Hudson. If you refuse to stand aside, I will shoot you dead. Unfortunately, I won’t have the chance to baptize you.”

  “I bet that would just break your heart.”

  “In spite of your cynicism, Mr. Trotter, it would. I will pray for you and hope some other clergyman can be found to perform the proper rites before your soul is hopelessly lost. Now, for the last time, do you agree?”

  By way of an answer, Trotter dropped to his hands and knees. “Do I have to bark?” he asked.

  Roger almost smiled in spite of himself. “That won’t be necessary, Mr. Trotter. Miss Hudson, open the door, please. Stand there with your back to the catwalk. Right away, please, or I’ll have to shoot Mr. Trotter.”

  “Go ahead, Regina,” Trotter said, “do it.”

  Chapter Five

  HE ANNOUNCED HE LOVED her, then put them in the worst imaginable circumstances, worse than waiting to die under the Kirk River. Here she was, walking backward on a solid catwalk high over the pressroom with a madman’s gun aimed at her heart. Every step felt as if it would send her plummeting over the edge of something, so that she would fall the thirty feet or so to the concrete floor below, making a one-point landing on her head, smashing her brain to jelly.

  At that, it might be better than letting Nelson kill her, which he assuredly would, as soon as they got to the other end of the catwalk. For all his promises he wasn’t going to let her live, especially now that he had the valuable Mr. Trotter.

  And the valuable Mr. Trotter was no help, either, talking to her all the time. “Watch the rivet, Regina, about a third of the way there, Regina, chin up, Regina, remember to run like hell when you get through the door on the other side, Regina.” Where did all this Regina stuff come from? In the last minutes of her life, when this arrogant and enigmatic bastard she’d lost her heart to had finally said he loved her; when she could use a little tenderness before this nut killed them both; it would be all right to use the pet name. In fact, it was rapidly becoming her last wish—to hear him call her Bash one more time.

  Though Allan was doing all the talking—the only sounds in the whole pressroom were the humming of the motors of the presses on standby (and why weren’t they running? she wondered. It was way past time to roll on Worldwatch) and the sound of Allan’s voice—he wasn’t talking exclusively to her. He was keeping quite a flow of comments addressed to the Reverend Mr. Nelson. Evidently, Mr. Nelson was getting sick of it, or maybe stung by it. He began to answer back.

  Allan said, “That’s the Old Testament God you work for, right? The one who got mad and slew anybody who crossed him. The New Testament is a little heavier in the Free Will department.”

>   Nelson mumbled something.

  Regina wondered how Allan could calmly put his knees down on the pebbled-metal surface of the catwalk without any trace of pain showing in his voice. “Speak up,” he snapped. “I can’t hear you.”

  “The Lord,” Nelson announced, “is moving and working among us this very day.”

  “Of course he is, but you’re the best. You’ve got him working for the Russians, the most vicious bunch of sinners in the history of mankind.”

  For the first time, Regina saw a look of insanity on Nelson’s face. “You don’t understand the Plan! They were working for me!”

  Allan stopped and looked up at Nelson over his shoulder. “For you,” he said. “For you. My apologies. I wasn’t aware of your promotion.”

  “What are you talking about? Keep moving.”

  Allan stayed where he was. Regina could see Nelson’s hand tightening on the gun.

  “We were talking,” Allan said, “about the Lord working for the Russians. You come back with the announcement that they’re working for you. Here I was thinking you were simply Azrael, the Angel of Death—”

  Nelson’s eyes opened wide. “How did you know that?”

  Allan ignored him. “—but now it turns out you’re God Almighty Himself. If I’d known, I would have worn a cleaner shirt. What are you? The Second Son, or the Second Coming?”

  “You mock because you don’t understand. God works through me!

  “Bullshit works through you. You kill because you like to, pal, and you’ve come up with the Azrael stuff because your conscience is a coward and needs an out.”

  Regina was looking at the gun. Nelson’s hand was clasped so tightly around it, it trembled, but he didn’t fire it or get it in position. It was as if Allan had struck a high-voltage wire in him.

  “In fact, if you didn’t have that goddam gun, I’d get up and bash your eyes shut. Do you hear me? Bash! Your eyes! Shut! Now!”

  Just as he said now, a bell rang. For a crazy second, she thought it was her brain letting her know Allan’s message for her, that he had been calling her Regina to get her ready to be called Bash when it counted. That he had a plan, and he wanted her eyes shut when it went into effect.

  As she squeezed her eyes closed, she realized what the bell was—it was the warning bell before the presses started up. Just as the bell ended, just before the huge machines would roar to life like waking dragons, Regina heard the crack of bone on bone, followed by grunts and a man’s scream. She opened her eyes just in time to see Nelson and Allan go over the railing of the catwalk. Regina opened her mouth to scream. The effort made her lungs hurt, but she could hear nothing in the roar of the presses. Then there was a tearing sound, like a million sails ripping in a hurricane, and the room was filled with a blizzard of torn paper that flew at her, sliced at her. She covered her eyes again, but not before she saw that among the white pieces of flying magazine stock, there were some that were wet, and bright red with blood.

  Chapter Six

  WHEN THE BELL RANG, Trotter made his move. He hadn’t been sure he would. It’s one thing to decide to die for something, it’s another to go do it. Talking, baiting Nelson, had been his consciousness buying time, begging him to think of something else. There wasn’t anything else. He warned Regina, as well as he could, that the air would soon be filled with nastiness, said the magic “Now” before Nelson got tired of the goading and took advantage of one of the extra chances Trotter kept giving him to shoot them both.

  Nelson may have been a maniac, but he was still human. He had senses; he had reflexes. Trotter had known the clanging would start, and could be ready for it. Nelson would have to be startled. He’d flinch; he’d look around wildly to see where the sound was coming from. It was the only edge Trotter had.

  As soon as the ringing started, Trotter heaved up with his arms, bunched his legs beneath him, and jumped blindly, straight back into the man with the gun. There was a loud noise and a pain in his head, and for a second, Trotter was sure he’d been shot. When his brain kept working, he realized what had happened was that he’d rammed the top of his head into the point of Nelson’s chin. He didn’t know what happened to the gun, and with the noise of the machines, couldn’t know. All he could do was to keep his feet churning against the catwalk, keep driving the man back.

  Until they both went over the side. Nelson had hold of him by now—he wasn’t going to go over alone. That was all right. Trotter had figured that was the way it would be. For a few seconds it was like flying, first with an angel, then, when some jolt on the way down broke them apart, solo. Then the floor came up, and there was nothing.

  Betrayed, Roger thought as his back leaned against nothing and his feet came up and his head started down. This spy, this Satan, had pushed them over the edge.

  The joke would be on Trotter, because he would wake up in Hell, tormented forever. Roger, at last, would share the sweet reward he’d helped so many others to attain, with the Lord he’d served with all his heart, no matter what words the Devil put in the mouths of his servants—

  Except.

  Except how could this be part of the Plan, how could a Godless killer like Trotter beat him, beat Azrael, kill the Angel of Death?

  Suppose.

  Suppose Trotter was right, Roger was just a madman, a—a killer no better than Trotter himself, because if he were an Angel of the Lord, would he be facing death with these damnable doubts? My God, my God, why have you forsaken—

  No.

  No, because in the jumble of images that rose around him as he fell, he found his Salvation, a rush of wind that hummed like a song, above the roaring of the gross inventions of man, a shimmering whiteness that was no solid shape, a light to guide him home, and as Roger let go of Satan forever, and reached out to meet the whiteness, he knew everything was going to be all right. He was going home.

  The machines stopped roaring. They gurgled to a stop, as though they’d been stabbed to death. There were voices now, people running into the pressroom. She took her hands from her eyes. The first thing she saw was blood oozing from the paper cuts on the backs of her hands.

  Then she made herself look over the edge of the catwalk and saw all the blood in the world. There was an ocean of blood on the floor of the pressroom. With islands floating in it. One of the islands was Allan, lying very still. Another was the right arm, shoulder, chest, and head of the Reverend Mr. Will Nelson, and the last was the rest of him. There was an archipelago of spilled parts scattered among them. Mr. Nelson had come too close to the speeding paper. Allan hadn’t. Allan was intact. She’d warned him days ago about the edge of the web. She hadn’t told him not to throw himself off the goddam catwalk.

  She couldn’t look anymore; she turned away and was sick. Each spasm was an expression of hatred for Nelson. That bastard, that bastard. He had made a fool of all of them, tormented her whole family, and now his death was so disgusting she couldn’t even feel triumph over it.

  And Allan. He’d known all along this was going to happen, and he did it, anyway. To save her. All the time she’d spent with him, even when they were making love, she wondered how he felt about her. He’d shown her now, and now it was too late.

  Voices from down below. “Hey, look at this.” It sounded like Albright.

  She looked over the edge and saw Albright and a bandaged Rines standing in the middle of the red ocean, looking at Allan. Rines looked up and said, “Get that thing over here, now.”

  There was some kind of mumble in response. Regina couldn’t make it out, but Albright did. “To hell with your shoes,” he said, “I’ll feed you your motherfucking shoes you don’t get over here right away. This guy is alive.”

  Regina felt her legs tremble, but she forced herself steady. This was no time to fall. She started to cry, then she laughed when Albright said it again.

  “He’s alive.”

  Epilogue

  Washington, D.C., November

  “I HATE THIS TOP-SECRET stuff,” Regina said. “I
’ve been camped in that waiting room two weeks.”

  Trotter smiled at her. It was one of the few movements he could make that didn’t hurt. “I’ve been under anesthesia most of the time,” he told her. “I never realized you could break so many bones just by falling thirty feet.”

  She took hold of the hand that had fingertips sticking out of the cast. She touched the fingers gently. “You were a mess. I heard the ambulance guys talking when they took you away. They ought to call you Bash. And then they get you stabilized, they immediately jet you down here. We have excellent hospitals in Kirkester, and your credit was good.”

  “Top-secret stuff. I didn’t have much to say about it.”

  “The secrets are safe. I’ve got an excuse to be in Washington, keeping my mother company while she testifies before Congress.”

  “I screwed up Worldwatch that week, didn’t I?”

  “Boy, you have been out of it. The issue shipped, only a day late. Time and Newsweek let us use plants of theirs.”

  “Journalism lives.”

  “Especially when you give them a big enough story. It’s been amazing. Five prominent women my mother’s age have committed suicide since the story broke. Even the big-city liberal papers haven’t been able to explain it away, and Mother is keeping the heat on.”

  “Give them time, they’ll think of something. Your mother is a brave woman.”

  “I guess so. Jimmy’s getting treatment, too. It shook him up. I did what Rines asked and sat on the story about Mr. Nelson. We concentrated on Mel Famey—his name was in the stuff they found in Smolinski’s place and sort of implied he killed Nelson. I liked Mel Famey. I still have trouble believing—”

  “He made his choice a long time ago. Anyway, Albright will love you for it.”

  She nodded. “He called me an angel.” They thought about that one for a second. Then Regina said, “Allan?”