1: New Beginning

[Dante Hicks is now Patrick Russell.]Daniel Cho stood in the frigid bay wind and stared at the graves of his parents and his sisters. It was September, three months after their deaths at the hands of the demons. Their estate handling had been done remotely because he’d spent the last three months preparing to avenge them. Today was the first day he’d actually been free to visit their graves.

He hardly recognized the man he’d been when they died. In the last three months, Jack and Sandy had run him and Patrick through a brutal “boot camp” to prepare non-combatant civilians for the battle ahead. They’d been whipped into the best physical shape of their lives, taught how to survive in wildernesses from the Appalachian mountains to SouthEast Washington DC.  They’d been taught how kill with guns, knives and their bare hands. Daniel was the equal now of the best US Army Rangers, and had also refreshed his skills as a trauma surgeon. Those were skills his team was likely to need, considering what they’d be fighting.

Demons. Not the horned and pitchfork variety, but real, flesh and blood people who, as the result of nanotechnology no one had figured out yet, healed almost instantly, never got sick, never aged. They’d been living among humans for centuries–millennia–and interfering in the development of society, corrupting and poisoning things for their own ends. Wherever there was blood, strife, humans killing each others, there were demons behind the scenes.

Daniel had stumbled upon their existence and they’d tried to kill him for it. When that didn’t work, they’d killed his family. But in the end, Daniel and his friends had been able to get the truth out. The demons weren’t a secret anymore.

But neither were they acknowledged fact. The demons had caught the collective imagination of the public, but the United States government, along with most of the United Nations, still declared them a hoax. Daniel knew that this was because the demons had influence deep within the governments of the world. Even Jack’s former boss at the FBI had been working for them. Officially, an ancient conspiracy of immortals meddling with human history was every bit the wacko conspiracy theory it sounded like.

Only it was real. Jeff had died to bring the story to light, one of many wacko conspiracy theories he had favored. Only this one was real. The demons existed, whether they were acknowledged officially or not.

And they would be hunted. Jack’s team but just one of many the angels had started up in the last few months. The angels still hadn’t, for the most part, shown themselves. Only Uriel had been seen in public. But they’d thrown their considerable resources behind the human effort to seek out and destroy the demons, once and for all.

Daniel knew the mission was important. He believed, as Jack did, that humanity needed to be free. But really, he just wanted to destroy the creatures that had taken his family away from him. He wanted justice. If he couldn’t get it from his government, he’d take it himself.

“Are you ready?” Jack said behind him.

Jack turned and saw his new boss, both of them wearing jeans and leather jackets against the fall chill. They didn’t look much like soldiers. But Jack had fought in Iraq, alongside Sandy, before he joined the FBI. And while Patrick hadn’t been tested under fire yet, Daniel had fought the demon Batarel five times before finally killing the bastard, the last time just hand to hand, flipping the demon off a catwalk in a steel plant into a vat of molten metal. So far, he was the only human to kill an immortal in all of recorded history. That had to count for something.

Daniel didn’t look back at his family’s graves. “Yeah, boss. I’m ready.”

“Let’s saddle up, then.” Jack turned and led Daniel to the UH-60 Blackhawk they used to move around. They hadn’t come to San Francisco just so Daniel could say goodbye to his family. They were hunting. After Susan released the database given to her by Uriel with all the names and aliases of every demon, including their current identities, most of them had gone to ground, assumed emergency backup identities. It had taken a lot of legwork and Patrick’s computer skills, but they found one, living in the bay area. It was time to take him down.

*

Jack sat in the cockpit of the Blackhawk, going over the mission details one more time. Sandy was piloting, and Daniel was in the back with Patrick, trying to get Patrick’s little surprise ready. While he and Sandy had been teaching the young analyst to fight, they’d also been picking his brain about how to kill demons more effectively. They couldn’t very well carry around a vat of molten steel everywhere they went, so they needed another way to kill something that could heal almost any injury in seconds. Patrick had come up with a lot of ideas, including the one they were going to field test today. Just as soon as they found the demon.

According to their sources, the demon, true name of Oznael, was holed up in warehouse down in Hunter’s Point. Seemed as good a place as any to test out their tactics.

Sandy signaled him. They were almost at the LZ. Out the port side he saw the blue of San Francisco Bay, gray industrial buildings below and to starboard. They were coming in fast.

Jack turned and signaled to Daniel and Patrick. They moved to turn off all their electronics. Jack started shutting down everything he could in the cockpit without interfering with Sandy keeping the bird in the air. They’d have to be quick.

Sandy pointed at a building, started a countdown with his hand. Five, four, three…

The instant the Blackhawk hit the roof, Jack and Sandy scrambled to shut down the remaining electronics. They had three seconds. Two, one…

Dante hit the EMP and Jack heard a loud pop from the back of the Blackhawk. All the control screens were black. He glanced at Sandy. “Did we make it?”

“Won’t know until we try to start it again.”

Jack shrugged. They had other concerns at the moment. “Let’s move, everybody!”

The men jumped out of the Blackhawk, rotors still swinging above their heads from sheer momentum. They ran for the roof access door, Jack spraying the doorknob with bullets from his MP5. He kicked the door down and they rode it like a surfboard down the first flight of steps before jumping off in the landing and continuing down. The staircase opened out into a catwalk above a warehouse floor. The lights were off, a side effect of the eletromagnetic pulse they’d set off. If they were lucky, the nanites in the demon’s blood would be disabled as well.

They fanned out across the catwalks along the north and west sides of the building. Each man was dressed in black coveralls, combat boots and bulletproof vests. They wore kevlar helmets and could have passed for SWAT officers but for the lack of the word POLICE in bright white letters on their vests. Each carried an MP-5 submachine gun, plenty of ammo, grenades, and a light backpack containing the tools of their specialty. Sandy carried handheld napalm bombs and other ordinance. Daniel had their medical kit, Patrick a computer that could connect to just about anything anytime someone hadn’t just set off an EMP. Jack’s backpack held surveillance gear, and he reached into that pack to pull out a lightweight set of night vision goggles. He put them on.

The warehouse flared into a monochrome gray, brighter and better detailed than what he’d been able to make out by eye. He was the spotter in this scenario, directing the other men towards the target. If they could find the target. The warehouse was full of eighty foot shipping containers, some stacked five high. A single demon could hide in here for a long time without being spotted, especially if he could get into one or more of the containers.

Jack saw something dart off to the side on the warehouse floor. He whistled to the men, and pointed. “Southeast corner!” he said.

Carefully, they all started down the metal stairways towards the floor. Patrick had formed up with Jack, Daniel was covering Sandy. With any luck, they’d catch the bastard in a crossfire.

Jack turned and glanced at Patrick. “You sure this is going to work?”

The former FBI analyst shrugged. “In theory, it should work,” Patrick said. “The nanites are too small to have any appreciable EM shielding. The EMP should have turned Oznael into just another human being, at least for a while. If we shoot him, he should stay dead.”

“That’s an awful lot of “shoulds”, Patrick.”

“I know, sir.”

They crept down the floor. As soon as Jack stepped down to the concrete, he heard the distinctive chatter of an AK-47. He grabbed Patrick by the scruff of the neck and threw them both to the floor. Bullets ricocheted off the metal staircase behind them.

“I think he’s on to us, sir,” Patrick said.

“Figured that out, did you?” Jack said as heard answering MP-5 fire coming from the left. Good, Sandy was already trying to pin him down.

He slapped Patrick on the shoulder. “Come on, Patrick. We have a job to do.”

Patrick covered Jack as Jack carefully sidestepped around the shipping container where he thought the AK shots had come from. Sandy and Daniel were no longer firing, so they must have lost Oznael too, assuming they ever saw him and weren’t just shooting at the sound to drive him back.

“Oznael!” Jack shouted, echoing in the vast warehouse. “We know who and what you are. There’s no way out of here except through us!”

“Sir is that wise?” Patrick whispered. “Taunting him?”

“If he hides,” Jack whispered, “and we have to search crate by crate, it’s much more dangerous and we have a higher risk of losing him. He thinks he’s invulnerable still, and is only avoiding us because it’s easier to pick us off one by one. If we can make him angry enough to charge us…”

“He’ll run right into the bullets, thinking they won’t harm him.”

“That’s the plan,” Jack said. “Now we just need to flush him out.”

Jack turned on the comlink hooked over his right ear. “Sandy, report,” he said as quietly as he could.

“Nothing here, boss,” Sandy said. We converged on where it sounded like the AK fire came from, but there’s no sign of him.”

“Roger that,” Jack said. He waved for Patrick to follow and moved down the aisle between the massive containers. Bastard had to be here somewhere.

“Oznael!” he said. “You’re not getting out of this.”

Jack heard the demon speak behind them, a rough Aussie accent. “I beg to differ.”

Oznael opened fire, and Jack felt a couple of the rounds hit the plate on the back of his vest. Patrick cried out and went down immediately.

“Shit,” Jack said and returned fire. He hit the demon square in the chest with at least five rounds. The demon fell down under the hail of gunfire.

“Medic!” Jack screamed. “Daniel, get over here!” Jack saw a pool of blood spreading under Patrick, and it was getting way too big.

As he heard Sandy and Daniel doubletime over to him, he saw the demon getting back up.

*

Daniel saw Patrick slumped against the side of a container as Jack leaped over him and opened fire on the demon again. “Sandy, I need some help here!” Jack said.

As Sandy and Jack drove the demon back, Daniel whipped off his pack and tended to Patrick. “Stay with me, buddy,” he said. “We’re gonna get through this.”

“F–First time out,” Patrick said. “And I get tagged.”

“Could have happened to any of us,” Daniel said. He saw that most of the bleeding was coming from Patrick’s left leg. Daniel took a knife and sliced open the leg of Patrick’s pants. The bullet had gone deep into his thigh, and the blood coming out was bright red, arterial. Probably nicked the femoral, Daniel thought.

“Okay, Patrick, this is going to sting a bit,” Daniel said. He grabbed a clamp out of his pack, and a retractor. “Got to do a little spelunking.”

“In my leg?”

“Just lie back and think of England,” Daniel said. “Don’t pass out if you can help it.”

“I’m getting dizzy, Daniel.”

Daniel reached in with the retractor and pulled the wound open. Patrick screamed and thrashed.

“Patrick! Keep still!”

“Fuck!” Patrick said through clenched teeth.

There was blood everywhere, pumping hot over Daniel’s hands. But he could see where it coming from. He reached in with the clamp, and closed it over the artery.

“Shit!” Patrick said. “Fucking Christ, that hurts!”

Daniel broke an ice pack and put it over the wound. “Hold that there as long as you can. I’ve stopped the life threatening bleeding, but we need to get you to an OR as soon as possible.” He wrapped some bandages over the ice pack. “I’ll be right back.”

Daniel grabbed his weapon, jumped up and ran towards the gunfire.

*

Jack emptied his clip, ejected it, and slammed another one home. Oznael was off balance from the continued gunfire, but he was healing visibly. They had him backed up and pinned down, but Jack didn’t see how they were going to keep this going. As soon as they ran out of ammo, the demon would counterattack and it would be over. They needed a lot more practice before trying to take one of these things down.

Jack heard another SMG open up behind him, and saw Daniel adding his firepower. He was firing in three-round bursts, focusing on the demon’s knees.

“Good thinking!” Jack shouted. “Sandy, we need some heat!”

Sandy pulled back and reached behind him. He pulled out what was essentially a small flare attached to a plastic container of jellied gasoline. It was a slightly more sophisticated version of a Molotov Cocktail, in that it used napalm instead of gas or kerosene, but it would do the job. Sandy lit it and tossed it just above the demon. The flare ignited the napalm, which melted the plastic and rained down on the demon, In an instant, the demon was covered in fire. Oznael turned and ran, faster than Jack thought possible, for one of the warehouse exits.

“Won’t kill him,” Sandy said, “but it will take him out of commission long enough for us to evac.”

“Let’s do it, then,” Jack said. Daniel already had a collapsible stretcher unpacked and unfolded. They set about moving Patrick to the stretcher as gently as possible, and then carried him to the nearest staircase.

The first battle in the war against the demons hadn’t exactly been a rousing success.

30: The Hunt Begins

“Assistant Director Gottlieb’s office,” Stacy said.

“Hi, Stacy, it’s Jack. Can you put me through to Lou?”

Lou’s secretary lowered her voice. “You out of your frickin’ mind calling here? Lou’s really pissed, Jack.”

“I know, Stacy, but officially, I still work for the guy. I’ve been back in country for a week and I need to report in.”

“Your funeral,” she said, and put Jack on hold. Lou picked up just a couple seconds later.

“Do you have any idea,” he said, “what the fuck you’ve done, Jack?”

Probably better than you do, Jack thought. “Apart from uncovering an ancient conspiracy—“

“Spare me, Jack” Lou said. “No one gives a shit but you and the whackados you’ve fallen in with.”

“The media doesn’t seem to agree with you, Lou.”

“We’ll have the media under control soon enough. They’re champing at the bit now, but they’ll fade in time. Six months from now, everyone will have forgotten you and your little revelation. The only reason you and the rest were allowed back on US soil was that denying you entry would have lent credibility to Richardson’s story.

“You’ve always been an idealist, Jack. You have no idea how the world really works. It’s not like your buddies in the military. This is the real world. You have to be flexible.”

“And by flexible, you mean sell me out to demons?”

Lou laughed, an angry little sound. “Call ‘em what you like, Jack. They hold the power, and the rest of us do what we’re told. Sides don’t matter, Jack. Get past the names and it’s all the same.”

Keep talking, Jack said. He glanced over at Dante, who spun his finger in the air. Keep going.

“I thought you were a patriot,” Jack said.

“Jack, I would think you of all people would understand. There are no patriots. There are survivors, and there’s you. I’m a survivor.”

Dante gave Jack a thumbs up. Time to pull the plug.

“I can’t tell you how sorry I am to hear that,” Jack said. “And you may as well call off the agents you have converging on my location in Silver Springs. The one you’ve traced this call to? I’m not actually there.”

Lou sputtered.

“I called to tender my resignation,” Jack said. “Well, mine and Analyst Hicks. We’re both going to be pursuing other opportunities.”

“You bastard,” Lou said. “You can’t quit. You’re fired.”

“Whatever helps you sleep at night, Lou. And don’t bother cleaning up after yourself. Agent Hicks piggybacked off this call into the FBI network and downloaded the security tapes of you allowing in those two demons, along with footage of what they tried to do in the lab. We’ll be releasing those to the media presently.”

Lou said nothing, but Jack enjoyed the shade of red he knew that his now former boss’s face must be.

“So long, Lou. Pray to whatever god you actually believe in that you don’t see me again.”

#

Susan tabbed over to see look at the latest traffic stats again. New American Century, now under her control, was blowing up. Dante had set up the new blog on a server that scaled to incoming traffic demands, and the hits just kept going up and up and up.

In a way, denying her story was the best thing the government could have done for her. For some reason, the public had been conditioned to believe the opposite of what their elected representatives told them. So when they were told by People In Authority that this was all a hoax, that demons weren’t real, then the public believed the Susan was indeed on to something.

She was still writing follow up articles, analysis and replying to thousands of comments. Uriel had assured her that she was safe against any direct reprisals from the demons, and she had no reason to doubt his word. So she sat in her apartment and rode the wave for all it was worth.

She made sure to star all the requests for interviews in her inbox. Now that she was safely back in the US, all the major networks wanted to get her in studio for on-camera interviews. Susan felt it was a great opportunity to test drive the networks and see where she wanted to land when all this was over.

She jotted down a note to call Daniel later. She knew he was still grieving for his family, and she needed to cheer him up. She shouldn’t be the only one to benefit from what they’d gone through.

#

Daniel sat in his apartment and stared. He wasn’t staring at anything in particular, just the way the end table butted up against the wall. He had a day’s growth of beard on his chin, and was wearing the same clothes he’d worn the day before, the clothes he put on after that shower in Frankfurt.

His boss had assured him his old job was waiting for him, but to take his time. He didn’t want Daniel to rush into things before he was ready. Daniel knew that his boss was hesitant to take him back at all, and that the angels had leaned on him. He could hear it in his voice. The same tone people used when talking to the mentally unstable.

But wasn’t that what he was, now? What he’d been for quite some time, if he was honest with himself? He knew how ridiculous it sounded. That he, who trained to be a healer, would be followed around by death? Not his death, but the death of anyone near him, anyone whose life he touched. It wasn’t what he wanted. But it was what he was.

He was the angel of death.

Daniel shook his head. I really am tipping over the edge, he thought as he got up and walked into the kitchen for another beer. It was only mid-morning, but he told himself the sun was over the yardarm somewhere.

He heard a knock on the door as he was walking back to his recliner. The sound startled him because it was unexpected. He’d expected to be overwhelmed by paparazzi when he got home, but things had been oddly quiet. No one called to bother him. No one camped out in front of his apartment. He supposed he had the angels to thank for that, but he wasn’t in the mood to thank anyone for anything.

He walked over and opened the door. He saw Jack standing in his doorway, once again dressed in his “G-man” black suit. He only needed a fedora to complete the look. Over Jack’s shoulder he saw a black Crown Vic containing Sandy and Dante, both similarly attired.

“Jack,” he said. He kept his voice neutral.

“Daniel, it’s good to see you,” Jack said. “Do you mind if I come in?”

“Be my guest.”

Daniel trudged back to his chair and sat down.

Jack walked in, shut the door. “Daniel, we need your help.”

“Again?”

“More like still,” Jack said, taking a seat on the couch across from Daniel. “I’m not with the FBI anymore.”

“Wardrobe notwithstanding.”

“I know you’re tired,” Jack said.

“That’s an understatement.”

“And I know you would rather go the rest of your days without seeing another immortal, but we need you.”

“We, in this case, being you, Sandy and Dante out in the car?”

“Among others,” Jack said. “Geez, what I’m about to say still sounds ridiculous, even to me. But you’re one of the few people who would understand. We’re creating a task force to take down the demons. We’re going to hunt them down and destroy them, every single one of them.”

Daniel raised an eyebrow. “You and what army?”

“We’re building an army,” Jack said. “That’s why I’m here. I want you on my team.”

“You want me to fight even more demons, on purpose?”

“Well, yeah.”

“Go to hell, Jack.”

Jack’s head dropped. “Daniel, I know what you’ve been through. I was there.”

“Were you?” Daniel said. “Were you in my family home in San Francisco when the demons burned it to the ground with my family still in it? Were you there when they raped my sisters? When they made my mother watch?”

“I begged you not to watch that video.”

“I’m an albatross, Jack. I’m the angel of fucking death. I’m a doctor who not only manages to kill his patients, I manage to get anyone killed who’s dumb enough to get close to me. You don’t want me on your team.”

“Yes, I do, Daniel. We’re planning on four man units, small and nimble. Each man will fight, but we’ll also have other mission support specialties. Sandy is ordinance and procurement, I’m intelligence, Dante’s triple C. We need a medic. And I happen to know someone who’s not just a talented trauma surgeon, but also is the only known human to kill one of these bastards. You flipped Batarel into the steel in Bethlehem, not me. You know how to fight the demons.”

“Pass,” Daniel said, and took a swig of his beer.

“Dammit, Daniel, we can’t take no for an answer!”

“That’s what you’re getting, Jack. I’m done with those fuckers.”

“What about your family? Don’t you want revenge?”

“Hell yes, I want revenge. But I’m also smart enough to know I won’t get it. Batarel was a fluke, Jack. You can’t kill these things. Not consistently.”

“I refuse to believe that.”

“You can refuse to believe a lot of things. They’ll still kill you.”

“Then at least I’ll die fighting for something I do believe in. And I believe in freedom. Until the demons are gone, the human race won’t be free.”

“We never were, Jack. You were okay with it when you didn’t know.”

“Dammit, I know now! I can’t let this go!”

Daniel smiled. “How does it feel? Now you know why I ran, why I didn’t just pipe down in that police station, admit to what they said I did.”

“Fuck you, Daniel. Maybe you aren’t who I thought you were. Enjoy being your angel of death.”

Jack stood up and walked to the door.

“Wait,” Daniel said.

Was that it? Was it that simple? Was destroying the demons why he was here? [insert something earlier in the book with Daniel’s mom about God’s purpose]. Maybe his mother had been right. Maybe everyone did have a destiny. And maybe this was his.

“What,” Jack said. It wasn’t really a question.

Daniel stood up. “I’m in.”

29: Revelation

The Iraqi Air 737 touched down at Frankfurt International a little after 3 AM local time. Daniel, Jack and Susan grabbed what little they had and trudged down the central aisle. Daniel had the scroll and helmet in a carry-on gym bag, and fortunately airport security at Baghdad had been willing to accept a thousand dollars US to pretend they’d never seen the artifacts leave their country. Things in that country were getting better, but not very much. Corruption was still the rule of the day.

None of them had slept on the trip up, even though they were all beyond exhausted. They also hadn’t talked, even though they had adjoining seats. Any time one of them seemed to start, it was all too obvious that the most vociferous member of their team wasn’t with them. Daniel felt like he couldn’t even look Susan or Jack in the eye. But they had to go on, or Jeff’s sacrifice would be meaningless. They owed him that, to see this through.

As soon as Daniel stepped off the jetway, he saw a familiar face. The blond hair and high, Nordic cheekbones weren’t out of place here in Germany, nor was the expensive designer suit. But there was something about the way Uriel carried himself that set him apart anyway. He was still an archangel, even if he was wearing Armani.

Next to Uriel stood a dumpy guy with a scruffy beard and a “Frodo Lives” T-shirt. Daniel didn’t recognize him, but the guy was waving at them.

“Dante,” Jack said from behind Daniel, sounding both puzzled and relieved. “What the hell are you doing out here, kid?”

“Long story, sir,” Dante said. Uriel was leaning against a column in the terminal and still hadn’t moved or said a word. Daniel supposed he didn’t have to, he’d brought a human to do that for him.

“A story that has something to do with our friend, here, I guess,” Jack said, motioning to Uriel.

“Your friend,” Uriel said, “the good Mister Hicks, fell in with the wrong sort of people in Washington,” Uriel said.

“The kind of people who aren’t people?” Jack asked.

“Something like that,” Uriel said. “I thought, given all the service he’s provided to this endeavor, that I should keep an eye on him.”

The angel turned to address Daniel. “You have the artifacts, Mister Cho?”

Well, just get right down to it, Daniel thought. No how are you, or hey, what happened to the old guy that was with you. “Right here,” he said, hefting the gym bag.

“Unorthodox method of transporting such treasures, but any port in a storm, I suppose,” Uriel said. “And I trust you’ve seen their… capacity?”

“Yes,” Daniel said. They’d given the scroll a quick once over on the way to the airport, where Sandy had dropped them off. Given that it was written in a language none of them could read, there wasn’t much to do with it. And putting on the helmet again would have drawn too much attention. Once they got out of the tunnel several blocks away from the mosque, Sandy radioed for help and commandeered a Humvee to get them the hell out of Najaf as quickly as possible.

“Very well, then,” Uriel said. “Follow me.”

He strode away, and Daniel turned to look at Susan, give her a “can you believe this guy” look, but she was doing exactly as she was told, unquestioningly obedient. Daniel sighed and followed.

Uriel took them to a limo waiting outside, then to a hotel near the airport. They checked in under assumed names and took the elevator up to the penthouse suites, which the archangel had reserved for them. Daniel tossed the gym bag on the bed and headed for the shower. He had about a thousand years of dust and blood to wash off.

#

Daniel stepped out of the bathroom, toweling off his hair and wearing the new clothes that had been left for him. He felt more human, but he was still exhausted, an—

Susan was crying. She was sitting one of the couches, bawling her head off. The rest of them, except Uriel, looked suckerpunched. Daniel felt the same. He still couldn’t believe Jeff—

“Oh, Daniel!” Susan said as she saw him, ran up and crushed him in a hug. “I’m so sorry!”

Sorry? He gently disentangled himself. “Is this about Jeff?” he asked.

That just set off another round of crying, and Susan retreated to the couch. Uriel started to say something, but Jack waved him off.

“Daniel,” Jack said, “you better sit down.”

Daniel took a seat in the suite’s expansive living room. “What’s going on, Jack?”

“We got some bad news while you were in the shower. When Susan logged on to try to upload her video, we found out that the demons have hacked the website.”

“So this is about hacking?” Daniel was missing something here.

“No, Daniel.” Jack took a seat across from him. “They posted some videos of their own. We should have suspected this after they tried to kill Dante, it’s my fault we didn’t—“

“The attack on Mister Hicks was well after the events—“ Uriel said, but Jack cut him off again.

“Daniel, they posted video of how they tortured and killed Susan’s editor…” Jack trailed off, but Daniel could see he wasn’t done. “And your family. Your parents and sisters are dead. I’m sorry.”

Daniel felt like all the air disappeared out of the room. He couldn’t breathe. Everything was starting to go gray. It couldn’t be true, could it?

“I don’t recommend watching the video,” Jack said. “It’s pretty graphic. But we’ve verified that it’s real. They’re gone.”

“Gone.” The word tasted like ash.

“When they couldn’t find us, they went after anyone close to us,” Jack said. Susan and I don’t have living parents anymore, and I never got married. And you know what happened to Jeff’s wife and why he didn’t have any kids. Susan’s editor and your folks were all they could find.

“We’re going to get them, Daniel. You have my promise on that.”

“How?” Daniel said.

“Well, we’re going to finish—“

“We’re posting a video on the internet?” Daniel said. “That’s how we’re going to ‘get’ them? We’re going to take them down with fucking YouTube?”

“It’s a start,” Jack said.

“It’s a fucking joke!” Daniel said. “They’re d—dead, and it’s my fault. It’s my fault again. It’s my fault they’re dead…”

“Daniel, you know that’s not true,” Susan said.

“It is true!” Daniel said. “I couldn’t fucking let it go, and now they’re dead. My m—mom, dad, Leah and Mary, it’s all my fault.” He got up and stormed out of the room.

#

“Let him go,” Jack said. Susan couldn’t believe it.

“Let him go?” she said. “What if—“

“He won’t leave the building,” Uriel said. “I have security in place. And you, Miss Richardson, have a job to do.”

Susan nodded, and turned back to her laptop. “How am I supposed to post the final installment if I can’t log in?” she asked. They’d already discovered that not only had the demons killed Stan, but they’d also taken down the New American Century website.

“I might be able to do something about that,” Dante said. He opened his own laptop, signed into the hotel wifi and set to work.

For the next few hours, Susan poured everything she’d been through along with everything she knew about writing into telling the tale of what they’d uncovered in Iraq. She gave Jeff the hero’s treatment he deserved, and meticulously laid out the case for the existence of the immortals. Once they were home and save, she’d turn over the scroll and the helmet to academics who could verify their authenticity, but she wanted the story to stand on its own. And she thought it did.

“Okay,” Dante finally said. “I wasn’t able to regain control of the site, but I did the next best thing. I copied the site layout from a cached copy and built a new blog that looks just like it. I won’t have the archives, but it’s the same thing otherwise. Then I hacked the DNS to redirect newamericancentury.com from the old IP address to our new IP address. I’ve got you set up on the new blog, Susan, so give it a try.”

Susan wasn’t sure she understood all of what Dante just said, but she clicked the favorite to her blog upload panel anyway. To her surprise, it came up, and she was able to log in. As Dante said, there were no old posts, but she got to work anyway uploading the edited video and her story.

An hour later, it was done. The story was out.

#

The next morning a 767 landed at Reagan National Airport from Frankfurt. The first people off the jetway were Uriel, Jack, Dante, Susan and Daniel, followed by the rest of the first class passengers. Jack flashed his FBI badge to get them all past Customs, and they moved unaccosted out to a waiting limousine.

“This feels weird,” Daniel said. He was still stunned by the deaths of his family, but it had settled into more of a dull ache over the last twenty four hours. He’d passed a stress threshold, and just couldn’t feel much of anything anymore. But that didn’t stop the rational, logical side of his brain from asking questions.

“I know,” Susan said. “I still feel like a fugitive.”

“Totally unnecessary,” Uriel said as they piled into the limo. “You are under my protection. All charges against you have been dropped, and the government is even settling all the property damage claims out of court to keep things quiet.”

Daniel wasn’t nearly as surprised as Susan was about the reaction thus far to her story. While it had been a runaway hit with the media, video being rebroadcast on all the major cable networks both in the US and around the world, the US government had already declared it to be a hoax, insisting that there was no such thing as angels and demons, that it was all internet special effects. Daniel knew that was the only stance they really could take, if they wanted to preserve any authority at all, but Susan was crushed. She’d been hoping for real, lasting change.

Daniel knew that the only times things changed, it was for the worse.

Before he knew it, the limo slowed to a stop in front of Daniel’s apartment. “You will find things cleaner than you left them,” Uriel said. “The demons ransacked your apartment when you left the country, but I’ve had a cleaning crew restore everything to normal.”

“Thanks,” Daniel said, reaching for the door.

“What are you going to do, Daniel?” Susan said.

“I’m going to try to get my old life back,” Daniel said, and stepped out of the limo.

28: The Burden of Proof

“How the hell are we supposed to get out of here?” Jeff said. Daniel didn’t know, and the helmet wasn’t showing him any other secret doors, assuming it could do that. He couldn’t even read the ancient text on the display.

“Maybe we’re not supposed to get out,” Susan said.

“Look, missy, I know the sounds of combat when I hear it. And Mohammad’s little pea shooter and gonna do diddley against military firepower.”

“I think we’re safer where we are.”

“Because an angel sent us here?” Jeff asked. Susan didn’t have to answer; they could see it in her face.

“Great day in the morning,” Jeff said.

“Let’s not panic,” Daniel said, noticing how both Susan and Jeff jumped a bit at his amplified voice. “Jack and Sandy are upstairs, I’m sure they have this under control.”

#

This is out of control, Jack thought.

They were at the end of a long stone corridor, just above an ancient stairwell. Every time they tried to enter the stairwell, someone below shot at them. And it had to have been a demon, because it didn’t seem to care about the grenades they dropped past it. Two of Sandy’s men were also engaged in a rear holding action against a band of—Jack wasn’t sure what they were, really. They were assisting the demons, but they were human. Sandy’s men had shot enough of them to verify that. But they still had Jack pinned down with no way forward and no way back until reinforcements arrived to take care of the demonic sympathizers. What a world.

“Well, Captain Sandarski—“

“Sure,” Sandy said, “throw that back in my face now.”

“—what do you, in your infinite tactical wisdom suggest?”

“Well, we could pour napalm down the stairwell,” Sandy suggested.

“A. You don’t have any napalm,” Jack said. “And B. Even it worked, it would either kill my friends down there or trap them behind a wall of fire we couldn’t get through.”

Sandy nodded. “Yeah, it’s not what you’d call a perfect plan.”

“Anything useful?”

“Well, if you’re gonna tie my hands like that…”

“Right,” Jack said. “We need a decoy, something for them to shoot at while we descend.”

Sandy looked back behind them. “Like, say, a dead body?”

Jack looked where his friend was looking, back towards the sympathizers. “Yeah, that might work. Damn, son, all this time in the desert’s made you a cold-blooded son of a bitch.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment,” Sandy said. On his orders, his men forced the issue with the sympathizers, pushing them back as though the soldiers were retreating. The enemy resisted, but not much. Jack figured they thought they were winning, that the soldiers were going to leave their demon masters alone. Once they got as far as the first body, Jack darted in and dragged it back to the stairwell. The soldiers fell back, covering him.

“Okay,” Jack said. “We only get one shot at this.”

“You don’t think they’re dumb enough to fall for it twice?” Sandy asked.

“Would you be?”

“Hey, I was dumb enough to join the Army, so I’m probably not a good test case.”

“Exactly,” Jack said. “Okay, as soon as Habib here moves, we chase him. Let them shoot the body, and then we overwhelm the shooters. You guys have zip ties, we can use those to disable them. Got it?”

“Have I told you,” Sandy said, “just how much I missed working with you?”

“No, you didn’t.”

Sandy nodded. “There might just be a reason for that.”

“Go!” Jack shouted, and pushed the cadaver down the stairs, starting it off as vertically as he could.

Jack and the soldiers followed the body, screaming at the top of their lungs. As expected, the body was pinned to the wall by gunfire, and as the lone demon guarding the stairwell stepped forward, Jack hit him with a flying tackle that would have made his high school football coach beam with pride. He smashed the demon into the stone wall, and in seconds they had it face-down on the floor and hog-tied with zip ties. They also ripped a rag off the increasingly bloody cadaver and shoved in the demon’s mouth as a gag. Jack had to admit, Sandy’s men were well trained.

“Okay,” Jack said, absurdly quietly considering the cacophony of the gunfire and struggle. “Anybody dead?”

All the soldiers checked themselves, and they confirmed that they were not dead.

“Good,” Jack said. “Let’s keep it that way, shall we?” He grabbed the assault rifle from the floor, and reversed the taped together banana clips to ensure he had fresh rounds. He’d count them later, if they lived.

“Let’s move.”

#

Daniel was starting to worry about his air supply. He didn’t know how long the battery in the helmet was going to hold out. But no matter how hard he pulled on the sides of the thing, it wouldn’t budge.

“Here, let me take a look at that,” Susan said. “Jeff, hold the camera.”

“While we’re at it,” Jeff said, “why don’t we just put on a puppet show?”

Daniel saw Susan reach up and take hold of the helmet. She yanked upwards. “Whoa whoa whoa whoa!” Daniel said. “You’re gonna take my head off!”

“No I’m not, you big baby. Pipe down.” She felt around on the helmet, on top, around the back, down the front. When she ran her fingers just under the jawline, Daniel heard a faint pop, then felt the padding recede. The display panels retracted and his hearing returned to normal.

Susan lifted the helmet off his head, then held it in one hand while she straightened his hair. “There. Not so bad.”

He took the helmet from her and looked into her eyes. “Thank you,” he said.

She was just inches away. “Any time,” she said.

“Ahem!” Jeff said. They both jumped, backing away from each other. “I’d suggest you kids get a room, but the problem is, see, we have one. And we can’t get out of it.”

“Right,” Daniel said. “Well, let’s look around again. Maybe there’s another way out of here.”

Jeff handed the camera back to Susan. “I think I got some great footage of the stones in the ceiling, just now,” he said. “Just sayin’.”

#

Jack crept through the dark corridors underneath the mosque. The place was a labyrinth, and he had no idea where this Mullah Mohammad had taken Daniel, Jeff and Susan. He knew they were down here, and he knew demons were down here. It would be bad enough if he was playing hide and seek with enemy troops, trying to find Daniel before they did. But given that if he found the demons first he couldn’t kill them while they could pretty easily kill him…

“You hear something, LT?” Sandy whispered behind him.

“No. Why?”

“You’re slowing down.”

“Sorry.” Jack picked up the pace again, creeping towards the next intersection in the stone corridors. It was just about pitch black down here, and they’d avoiding using the soldiers’ lights so as not to give away their position. They were literally blind. He ran his hand along the wall, trying to move as quietly as possible and filter out the miniscule sounds of the soldiers closing ranks behind him from what could be demons in front of him. He was also on the lookout for any light sources that—

His hand reached the end of the wall and touched warm flesh.

Jack snapped his hand back and whipped his rifle around, hitting the light he held alongside it.

“Turn that off, you fool!” a robed cleric hissed in thickly accented English. Jack killed the light. The man seemed to have come from a side tunnel that branched back the way they had come. Given the half a second Jack had been able to see it, anyway.

“Who are you?” the man whispered.

“Jack Harris,” Jack said. “I’m looking for—“

“Daniel Cho, yes, I know. I’m actually looking for you. The archangel said you’d be with them. Quickly, follow me.”

“Sir, I can’t see you.”

Jack felt the cleric’s hand grab his, and guide it to flowing fabric. “Grab my robe. Quickly, now!”

“Yes,” another voice said. “Quickly. We’re all very eager to meet your guests.”

Lights snapped on and Jack was momentarily blinded. As his vision cleared, he saw three demons in Bedouin robes, all holding AK-47s on them. Before he could say anything, Sandy opened fire on all three, strafing them with him M-16. The demons returned fire, and Jack dove for the mullah, hearing the man cry out as Jack drove him to the floor.

“Go, Jack!” Sandy said, and continued firing on the demons. He couldn’t kill them, but the barrage of lead kept them from advancing.

Jack scooped up the mullah and ran the way the man had come. The mullah’s voice was ragged, and Jack was pretty sure the guy had been hit, but they had no time to stop and check. He could hear Sandy and his men covering their retreat, falling back behind them. As the mullah directed him first one way, then another, Jack quickly lost track of where he was, the sound of Sandy and his men buying them time grew more indistinct. This better be worth it, Jack thought.

Finally the man stopped Jack by a door, and fumbled for a key. Jack took the key, slick with the mullah’s blood, and fitted into the door. It swung open on a dimly lit room containing his friends.

“Get inside,” the mullah said. “Now!”

Jack heard footsteps closing on their position and swing his light and rifle up, but it was only Sandy. He was bloody and limping from what looked like a hit to the thigh.

“They’re right behind me,” Sandy shouted. “Go!”

Jack bolted into the room, pushing the mullah in front of him, Sandy right on his heels. He turned and helped Sandy move the heavy door.

“Don’t close that!” Jeff said. “It—“

The door slammed with a hollow thud, and Jack almost immediately heard pounding on the other side.

“can’t be opened from this side,” Jeff said.

“As long as they can’t open it from that side for a while,” Jack said, “I’ll take that.” He turned to Sandy. “Your men?”

Sandy shook his head. It was all they needed to say.

“Okay,” Jack said. “Looks like we have a few minu—“

Susan screamed.

Jack looked over and saw that the mullah had slid to the floor, leaving a wide, wet streak of blood on the wall behind him. He was hit bad, much worse than Jack thought.

Daniel was already kneeling down next to him, trying to stop the bleeding. His hands moved with steady assurance and experience, the practiced motions of a trauma surgeon. But Jack had seen enough battlefield casualties to know it was already too late.

“Behind—“ the mullah said.

“Save your strength,” Daniel said. “Don’t talk.”

The mullah grabbed Daniel by the shirt. “Behind the altars,” he said. “The vision of—“ he coughed, blood spattering from his lips, “of angels will point your—“

The man slumped over. He was dead.

“The vision of angels?” Jack said. “What the hell does that mean?”

Daniel ran across the small room and grabbed an ancient helmet off one of two small altars set off in an alcove. “This,” he said. He put the helmet on and Jack saw the eye holes close off, replaced by two flat black convex lenses.

“Holy shit, what is—“

“Quiet,” Jeff said. “Danny, go look behind the altar.”

Daniel walked over to the alcove and began examining the walls behind the altar. “I see it,” he said. His voice was loud and deeper than usual, almost booming. “The readout in the helmet is showing me a hidden door, superimposing it. If you didn’t know it was there, you’d never find it.”

Daniel pushed in on the stones and a small section behind the altar moved away, maybe two by three feet. It wasn’t much of an escape hatch. “There’s a tunnel here,” Daniel said.

“Daniel,” Susan said. “It’s pitch black. I can’t see a thing.”

“I can,” Daniel said. “Clear as day as far as the helmet’s concerned.”

“Okay,” Jack said. “Daniel goes first, since he can see what’s going on. Then Susan, then Jeff.”

“No,” Jeff said.

Jack turned to the old man. “What do you mean, no?”

[In the second draft, have this happen after they find they can’t shut the door behind them]

Jeff took the AK-47 away from Jack. “Get a move on,” he said. “I’ll hold them back as long as I can. I remember a thing or two about firing from cover.”

Daniel took the old man by the shoulders. “Jeff, you don’t have to do this.” The soft words sounded odd with the helmet’s booming amplification.

“Yeah, I do, Danny. You have to get this story out. It can’t be limited to conspiracy nuts like me. You have to make people believe. You can do it. I know you can.”

The door cracked, and Jack could tell the demons were breaking through. Jeff started shooing people into the tunnel. “Go on, get moving! I’m gonna hole up behind these altars and buy you all the time I can. But it won’t matter much if you don’t get the hell out of here!”

Jack watched as Daniel, then Susan, then Sandy climbed into the tunnel. He clapped Jeff on the shoulder. “Thank you.”

“Just look after him, okay?” Jeff said.

Jack nodded and scuttled into the tunnel. He’d gone maybe ten meters when he heard Jeff open fire.

27: Something Old, Something Older

Daniel looked into the alcove. It held two small altars, each carved from a single block of black stone. On one altar was a scroll casing. On the other was a bronze helmet. Both looked very, very old.

“The scroll,” Mohammad said, “tells the story of the great war of the angels, the fall of Lucifer and how the angels and demons came to walk among us. It is written in ancient Babylonian, and according to myth is only a translation of a far older work handed down in clay tablets, which itself was transcribed from oral traditions. No one knows how old the story really is.”

“And the helmet?” Daniel asked.

“It is one of the few remaining angelic artifacts. It is the helmet of an angel killed in the great war.”

Daniel was transfixed by the helmet. It looked bronze only at first. The more he looked at it, the more trouble he had in determining what metal it was actually made of. The color was a dark gray-green, mottled with age. “May I examine it?”

“They are both yours now, Daniel Cho. By order of the archangel.”

Daniel picked up the helmet. It was heavier than he expected. He looked inside, and immediately saw why. Not only were the walls of the helmet thicker than usual, but the helmet was padded with some kind of polymer. As he turned it in the light, he saw… No, that was impossible.

“Susan, bring your camera over here. Does that thing have zoom?”

“Sure.” She aimed where he directed.

“Zoom in on that. What do you see?”

“It looks like a circuit board,” she said. “Like the motherboard on my laptop.”

Microcircuitry, Daniel thought. In an ancient angelic helmet. How much had Uriel not told them?

“Okay,” he said, “stand back.”

“Whoa, there, sport,” Jeff said. “What do you have in mind? You’ve got that look on your face.”

[make sure we hear the story of Jeff’s wife and his search for her murderer earlier in the story, so it informs Daniel’s sense of vengeance later]

“I’m just going to try it on,” Daniel said. “It’s a couple dozen centuries old, right? My laptop battery doesn’t last four hours.”

“I don’t think this is such a good idea, Danny.”

“Jeff, we need to know everything we can about these things, right? And besides, would Uriel have sent us after this if it was dangerous?”

“Probably no worse,” Jeff said, “than the Holy Grail, the golden fleece, Prometheus’s fire…”

Daniel looked at Susan. “You getting this?” She nodded, keeping the camera on him.

“Okay,” he said. He looked down at the helmet again, raised it up and put it on his head.

As soon as it was steady, he heard a soft “thwup” sound and felt something soft close around his throat. The sounds of the room faded instantly to nothing, only to come back up slightly different, like they were being run through a digital filter. The eye holes went black, and then faded back to transparency. Superimposed over his field of vision, Daniel could see various readouts floating in the air around him. The characters were foreign to him, but they look old, like the Sumerian or Babylonian writing he’d seen in museums. Despite the seal around his neck, he found he could breathe normally, although the dusty smell of the room was completely gone. The air was clean and cooler than the room air on his body.

“Daniel?” Susan said. Her eyes were huge.

“What do you see?” he asked.

She jumped at the sound of his voice. “The—the eye holes are black and have a matte finish, like you have black stones in there. You can see?”

“I can see fine,” he said. He decided not to try to explain the heads up display yet. “What else?”

“Your voice is loud, like a bullhorn. It’s been processed, too, sounds deeper than normal.”

Daniel chuckled. “The voice of God,” he said.

“I wouldn’t call it that,” Susan said, “but that’s the effect.”

Daniel turned his head and looked at Jeff. He saw that the Mullah behind Jeff was praying to himself. “Well,” he said, “they clearly have better battery technology than Dell.”

“You’re a riot, Danny. Now take that blasted thing off.”

Daniel reached up and put his palm to either side of the helmet and tried to lift it off. It didn’t budge so much as a millimeter. “Uh oh,” he said.

“It doesn’t come off?” Susan said. “How are you going to eat?”

For that matter, Daniel thought, what happens if the power gives out and the air filtration stops working? He was about to suggest she give it a shot when they heard a loud bang from above. Dust rained down from between the stones in the ceiling.

The mullah reached into his robes and pulled out a pistol. “You will wait here,” he said, and stepped out the door, closing it behind him. Jeff ran up to the door and tried the knob.

“It’s locked,” he said.

#

Dante Hicks shut down his PC and prepared to leave the office. It was early afternoon, but there was no one around to miss him. The rest of the office had either already left early to get a head start on the weekend, or they were already on vacation. June was quiet month in federal service, or at least it was supposed to be.

He slung his laptop bag over his shoulder and walked past the elevator to the stairwell. He’d been trying to get in shape for a while, and given the recent events with Agent Harris he figured now was as good a time as any. Some pretty weird shit was going on, and he wanted to be ready for it.

Actually, Dante had been dreaming about something like this for… well, pretty much his whole life. He always thought his life would be cool, like the stuff he grew up watching on TV. But when he graduated from MIT and thumbed his nose at several corporate job offers to get a job with the FBI, he found it couldn’t be more unlike the X-Files. Hell, it wasn’t even as exciting as Barney Miller. At least until this week.

Now, he was at ground zero of something big. Something he didn’t have to embellish over beers with Randall. In fact, he hadn’t even told Randall about the nanites. Those were the weirdest of the weird, and he wanted to puzzle it out himself a little more.

As he walked down the stairwell to the biolabs, he thought he heard a weird echo of his footsteps. It stopped when he stopped, so he wasn’t being followed, but it sounded… different.

I’m probably just paranoid, he thought. All this stuff is getting to me.

He exited the stairwell and rounded the corner to the labs. He badged in and saw that Sheldon, the lab tech he’d given the blood sample to, was the only one on duty here as well. Nothing cleared out like DC on a beautiful summer day, he thought.

“Mister Cooper!” Dante said. “How’s it hanging?”

“The answer will require further experimentation to verify repeatable results,” Sheldon said. Dante felt a wave of depression. Not only did he get the joke, he recognized that it was a joke. He needed to hang out with non-geeks more often.

“Are you likewise seeking to escape the sinking vessel?” Sheldon asked.

“Uh…”

“I refer to our rodentine coworkers, and their efforts to leave the building as though it were a ship at sea taking on water.”

“Gotcha. Actually, I’m on my way out. I was wondering if you’d discovered any more about that blood sample.”

“You mean apart from the fact that it contains nanotechnology far in advance of anything commercially reproducible today? Or perhaps apart from how each nanite appears to derive power from no discernable source. I’m afraid I haven’t had much time to look into the matter, as I’ve got several dozen algae blooms to cultivate.”

Damn, Dante thought. “Really?”

“Of course not, you fool. I was employing sarcasm. I’ve been spending every waking moment in a thus far futile attempt to discern the workings of the nanites. I swear, you CompSci types can’t take a joke.”

“That’s, uh, great, Sheldon, but what else have you found?”

Sheldon walked around a lab table, motioning for Dante to follow him. Dante was again struck by how the biochemist moved with short, precise motions, like a bird. “I put the blood into a growth culture,” Sheldon said. “Tried to grow it like any other cellular material.”

“And?”

“It reacted accordingly to the growth matrix,” Sheldon said. “But as the red blood cells increased in number, so did the number of nanites.”

“Really?” Dante asked. “Where did they come from?”

“The luminiferous ether, Dante,” Sheldon said, sounding annoyed.

“What’s a luminescent—“

“The either,” Sheldon said, “the background medium in which Newton thought all matter existed. It was another sarcastic remark. I can see I’m going to have to dumb things down a little with you. Engineers.” He harrumphed and continued. “The nanites are capable of reproducing on their own. It’s impossible to tell exactly how without greatly increased magnification, but it’s clear that they are capable of drawing carbon atoms out of their environment and building new versions of themselves, establishing an effectively unlimited supply.”

“So if you had these in your blood…” Dante said.

“You would not only be effectively immortal, but the mechanism by which you became immortal would be in and of itself inexhaustible. You’d live forever. Or at least until the sun goes red giant, at which point—“

“And you said the nanites had no effect in other blood samples?”

“None at all. I don’t know how such simple machines could store such programming, much less process and execute it, but they have no reaction to cells that don’t contain the DNA of the original sample. Ponce De Leon would have found this discovery intensely frustrating.”

“The means to eternal life, but it’s not transferrable,” Dante said.

“Precisely.”

Behind them, Dante heard a single pair of hands clapping.

He turned around and saw two men in expensive suits standing at the entry to the lab. He hadn’t heard them badge in. One of them was clapping, slowly. The other was closing the blinds over the one window into the lab.

“Who are you people?” Sheldon demanded. Dante knew the tech didn’t appreciate people intruding on his territory.

“I would think,” the clapping man said as he stepped forward and stopped the applause, “that you’d be happy to see us.” The man’s accent was faint, and Dante couldn’t tell if it was British or Australian.

“And why would I be happy to have you intrude on my lab?”

“You are studying the blood of immortals,” the man said. The other man quietly moved to the other end of the lab, and Dante noticed that just like that, he and Sheldon were pinned in. No way to get past the men other than going through heavy lab equipment.

“I’m sorry,” Dante said before Sheldon could reply. “You must have us confused with someone else. I was just asking my friend here about some gunshot residue.”

“No you weren’t,” Sheldon said. “I would never stood to running GSR tests.”

“Shut up, Sheldon,” Dante said, as quietly as he could.

“Get out of my lab!” Sheldon said. “Do not make me call security!”

The man smiled. “You won’t call security on us. For one thing, that would imply that the security guards were still alive.”

The other man, the one that hadn’t spoken, pulled something out of his suit jacket. It was a small digital camera. Dante thought it was probably similar to the ones Richardson had used to record her videos. He started filming them, being sure to get him, Dante and the other demon in the shot.

Demon. Dante knew what they were now. He could see it in the way they moved, a graceful economy of motion borne of centuries of practice. The one who had spoken reached out, took a graduated cylinder and smashed the end of it against the lab table.

“That is expensive laboratory equipment!” Sheldon said. “I’m going to see that you pay for that!” The poor guy still had no idea what was really going on.

The end of the cylinder was now a jagged point, a more expensive but no less lethal version of a broken beer bottle. The demon held it out in front him.

“Please,” he said, “resist. It will make this take longer.”

#

Jack jumped through the hole in the side of the mosque blown open by the demons. He had a flamethrower from the Humvee, and a bandolier full of grenades. He knew neither would do much against the demons long term, but he should be able to do enough damage to slow them down. Hopefully enough to extract Daniel, Jeff and Susan and get the fuck out of there.

Sandy and his men jumped through behind him, similarly armed. Sandy had an RPG that might pack enough punch to kill one of the bastards, though Jack wasn’t sure. Batarel had a grenade shoved down his pants and was on their asses the next day.

The interior of the mosque was a study in high end destruction. The demolition guys knew their business, and Jack supposed that fit. They’d probably been practicing since the invention of black powder. The upside was that they left a pretty clear trail behind them. The hole in the wall opened into a smaller temple, and with another explosion on the other side into the main hall. Jack saw breadcrumbs made of dust, shards of marble, and ash leading down a side corridor. He supposed when you were immortal, you didn’t have to wait for the blast to clear.

“Come on!” he shouted to Sandy and his men, and ran down the corridor after the demons.

#

Dante grabbed a Bunsen burner, turned it on, and threw it at the demon. It caught on the feed tube and fell to the floor less than half way to him.

“Impressive,” the demon said. Great, Dante thought. Not only is he going to kill me, he’s going to stop to make fun of me first. Why don’t we just go back to high school gym class and get it over with?

“There’s, uh, more where that came from,” Dante said.

“I’m sure there is,” the demon said.

“Why are you doing this?” Sheldon screamed. Poor guy was still looking for logic.

“We’re cleaning up a mess,” the other demon said, behind Dante and Sheldon. “Batarel was an idiot, and let this get out of hand. So it falls to us to clean up the loose ends.”

“I won’t tell anyone!” Sheldon said.

“You already have,” the second demon said. “Which is why you have to die.”

Sheldon started to sob, but Dante wasn’t finished. He went over everything he knew about these guys in his head. They were just as human as he was, apart from the nanotechnology that kept them eternally healthy. They bled. They could be killed, if he could do enough damage.

He broke out his best William Shatner impression, complete with hand gestures. “Look,” he said as he surreptitiously pulled of the rubber hose from the gas nozzle the Bunsen burner was attached to, “there has to be,” waving his other hand like a mad starship captain, “a way,” grabbing the igniter with his other hand, “we can make a deal.”

“That’s the worst Captain Kirk I’ve ever seen,” Sheldon said.

The demon stepped forward again, forcing Dante to retreat, then calmly reached over and turned off the gas. “Your kind is trouble, Mister Hicks. You’re too clever for your own good. Curiosity killed the cat.”

“Actually,” Dante said, “I’m pretty lazy. You know, the early bird may get the worm, but the second mouse gets the cheese.” He was babbling now, saying anything he could to stall them. Give him time to think of something.

“I think we’re done with the chit chat,” the demon said. “It’s time to end this.” The demon took another step forward, and his head exploded with a sharp crack.

“Agh!” Sheldon screamed behind Dante. “Another one!”

Dante turned and saw a blond man standing at the door to the lab with a hunting rifle. He looked vaguely familiar.

The remaining demon actually hissed at the newcomer. “Back off, Uriel! This is none of your concern!”

Uriel? The angel Jack had talked to? He’d seen him, briefly, on one of Richardson’s videos. Dante looked down and saw the first demon’s head reassembling itself. Damn, that’s unnerving, he thought.

“Step away from the humans, Zagiel,” Uriel said, walking into the room and keeping the rifle trained on the standing demon. “They are under my protection.”

The demon, Zagiel, stepped away from them, towards Uriel. “You should not interfere in our dealings, angel.”

Uriel smiled. “The rules are changing, Zagiel. I would think demons above all would embrace change.” He fired, and the bullet struck Zagiel in the chest, knocking him back.

“Come on,” Uriel said to Dante and Sheldon. “We need to get you somewhere safe.”

“Safe?” Sheldon screamed. “We’re in the Hoover Building!”

“Yeah,” Dante said, hopping over a table towards the angel. “And so are they.”

He looked back to see Zagiel pulling himself back to his feet, and the other demon also trying to stand, head mostly reconstructed and hair growing back out at a visible speed. Spooky.

“Oh, very well,” Sheldon said, and scrambled to follow them.

“Get behind me,” Uriel said, backing to the doorway. As Dante ran past, he saw the angel pull a grenade out of a pocket and pull the pin. Dante thought of all the gas pipes in that room. Aw, shit, he thought.

As soon as he and Sheldon were in the hallway, he tackled the biochemist to the ground.

“What the deuce?” Sheldon had time to say before Dante felt the angel fall on top of them and the room went up.

26: The Lost Gospel

Daniel snapped awake again when the Humvee hit a bump in the road. Looking back over his shoulder, he saw it wasn’t so much a bump as a hole. Or a crater.

He’d been trying to sleep as they moved south, but the road conditions, lack of any meaningful shocks or suspension on the military vehicle and the heat kept waking him up. He was pretty badly jetlagged. To him it was still the middle of the night, not late morning. And he really hadn’t had a good night’s rest in a week, so that made it even worse.

And of course, there was also the fact that Jack wouldn’t stop talking.

“Hey, check this out!” Jack said from the front seat of the Humvee. He’d put a copy of Susan’s database on Jeff’s laptop, and had been digging through it while Susan did her own digging in the other Humvee.

“What’s that?” Daniel said. He noticed the soldier sitting next to him in the back seat looked far less uncomfortable than Daniel felt. How do they do that?

“Sandy, you know how we keep reporting Said Hamza dead, and then find him alive again have to retract listing him as dead?”

“I told you, call me Captain. Yeah, he’s the Al Qaeda in Iraq number two guy.”

“Turns out there’s a good reason,” Jack continued. “He’s a friggin’ immortal. We probably are killing him each time, but the bastard just won’t stay dead!”

“Shit, LT, you mean to tell me some of the bastards in Al Qaeda are these immortals of yours?”

“From what I can see, they’ve got demons placed in the IRA and Tamil Tigers, too. A lot of work in Central and South America. And yeah, they get around the Middle East.”

“They always did, according to you.”

“Wait a minute,” Daniel said, leaning forward. “You’re saying the demons have been key players in—“

“In every war, revolution, junta and terrorist organization down through the ages. They were in the Crusades, on both sides, it seems. They were in Nazi Germany. They were in Stalinist Russia. Hell, it says here Rasputin was a demon. No wonder they couldn’t kill the bastard.”

“All this time, they’ve been walking among us—“

“Stirring up trouble,” Jack said. “Anywhere you find blood and death at human hands, they’re not far off. You stumbled into the biggest secret of all time, Daniel.”

Sandarski swerved the Humvee to avoid one of the larger craters, then said, “And you really believe this, LT?”

“Captain Sandarski—“

“Thank you, sir.”

“Captain, I’ve seen one of these things with my own eyes, and met one of the angels personally. According to Susan, the angel that stood at the gates of Eden with a flaming sword. I’ve tried and failed too many times to kill a demon to think they’re anything other than real. You saw the videos I sent you.”

“A lot of the men thought those were a joke, LT. Hollywood special effects.”

“Untouched, Captain. You saw on those videos what I saw with my Mark One eyeball. They’re real. The one we fought, Batarel, was impaled, beheaded, bludgeoned, electrocuted, blown up, shot—and I mean I emptied a whole clip into the bastard, should have died from lead poisoning at the very least—and it wasn’t until Daniel there tossed him into a vat of molten steel—“

“Holy shit, that was real?”

“That’s the kind of damage it takes to kill these things, Captain. Napalm might do it, or white phosphorus. The lab rat back in DC told me they’ve got tiny machines running through their bodies, fixing damage down to the cellular level as fast as it happens. They can heal from almost anything. You have to hit them so hard there’s nothing left to rebuild, and you have to do it fast.”

“Well, shit,” Sandarski said. That about summed it up for Daniel.

“And this temple in Najaf?” Sandarski asked.

“The Mosque of Imam Ali,” Jack said. “One of the most holy Islamic sites. Shia think Noah and Adam are buried there next to Ali, the third caliph.”

“Adam. As in—“

“The book of Genesis Adam, yeah,” Jack said. “Saddam damn near destroyed the place back in ’03—“

“Yeah, I remember hearing about that.”

“And it’s been rebuilt a few times over. But according to Uriel—“

“The angel you were talking about? Wonder if he remembers Adam.”

“According to Uriel, there’s a secret society inside all the Abrahamic churches that knows the truth about the immortals, but believes them to be what they say they are.”

“You mean,” Sandarski said, “you believe in these things, but you don’t think they’re demons?”

“Would a biblical demon have had trouble with molten steel?” Jack asked. “Should have been like going home, brimstone and all that. I never saw horns or a tail, and Uriel didn’t have any wings I could see. They’re immortal, and I don’t doubt they’re where the legends of angels and demons came from, but I don’t think they have anything to do with God.”

“Huh,” Sandarski said.

“So anyway, huh!” Jack said has they hit another hole in the road. “Can’t you keep this thing level?”

“At the speed you want, LT? Consider yourself lucky the ride’s as smooth as it is.”

“Anyway, this secret society has hidden artifacts all over the world. In the mosque, there’s supposed to be a scroll with proof of immortal existence. It’s been kept there for centuries, and kept a secret even though the place had been destroyed and rebuilt a bunch of times even before Saddam.”

“It’s a rough neighborhood, I’ll give you that,” Sandarski said. “So who do you talk to when we get there?”

“Mullah Hassan Mohammad,” Jack said.

“Hope he’s still there, LT. Not a place you want to hang out if they decide they don’t like us.”

Daniel sat back as the two men stopped talking. The desert and small villages sped past his window. He was in Iraq. On the way to a holy mosque. I don’t even have a passport, Daniel thought. He looked again at the soldier in the back seat, who still hadn’t said a word, and Sandarski. Jack trusted them, and he trusted Jack. He hoped they were good hands.

He tried to go back to sleep.

#

“Okay, LT, here we are,” Sandy said.

Jack looked out the Humvee window at the Mosque of Imam Ali. They were just west of the city of Najaf, and the sun was behind the mosque, scattering light around the golden dome that towered above the two story structure. It was a lot bigger than Jack expected, and there were dozens, maybe hundreds of people scattered around the complex.

“Let’s go,” Jack said, and opened the door.

Daniel hopped out after him, and he saw Susan and Jeff get out of the other Humvee with the rest of Sandy’s men. The locals looked curiously at the soldiers, but Jack didn’t see much hostility in their eyes. He supposed after seven years, they were used to American troops.

Not sure I’d ever feel the same were our positions reversed, Jack thought.

“You want us to go in with you?” Sandy said.

“No, just hang tight out here. I don’t want to insult them by bringing guns into a mosque.”

“Saddam did it,” Sandy said.

“And look how things turned out for him,” Jack said. “We’ll be right back. It shouldn’t take long.” He motioned to the other civilians and they walked into the mosque.

Jack walked up to the first person he saw inside who looked like they worked there and said in Arabic, “I’m looking for Mullah Hussan Mohammad.”

“I am sorry, there is no one here by that name,” the man replied.

“Please, I beg your pardon,” Jack continued in Arabic. “We have come a long way, and were told to seek a Mullah Hussan Mohammad here.”

“I am most sorry. I cannot help you.” The man walked away.

“Well,” Jack said in English, “that didn’t get us anywhere.”

“You speak Arabic?” Susan said.

“Badly,” Jack said. “I picked it up the last time I was here.”

“Useful skill to have,” Jeff said.

“Only if we can find someone who knows something. Come on.”

He walked down the central aisle of the main chamber, looking for a mullah who might know more. He saw a man in mullah’s robes talking to the man Jack had just spoke to. They both looked over at him, and then the mullah clasped the man on the shoulder and disappeared down a side corridor. The man followed him.

Jack picked up his step and tried to follow, only to watch as the door to that corridor shut just as he got there. He tried the knob and found the door locked.

“Something’s going on,” he said. “They’re ducking us.”

Jack looked around, and it looked like there were fewer worshippers than there had been before. He had to be imagining that.

“Can I be of service?” a voice behind them said in accented English.

They turned and Jack saw an old man in a threadbare suit. He didn’t look like one of the priests or their support staff. “Maybe. We’re trying to find Mullah Hussan Mohammad. We’ve come from America.”

“So has everyone else, these days,” the man said. “My name is Afif Ibn Ghalib. I’m the foreign attaché for the shrine. I help academics and other visitors who are not worshippers. And since none of you appeared to be here to pay your respects to Ali, I thought perhaps I could help.

“But I’m afraid there is no Mullah Hussan Mohammad here. I’ve been working for the shrine for decades, and I can’t remember such a man ever working here. Are you certain you’re in the right place?”

“We’re pretty sure,” Jack said.

“Why do you seek this Mullah Mohammad, if I may ask?”

Before Jack could answer, Daniel stepped in. “We were sent to retrieve a scroll. A very old artifact.”

“I see,” Ibn Ghalib said. “And you are?”

“My name is Daniel Cho. This is Jack Harris, Susan Richardson and Jeff Frankel. I was under the impression we were expected.”

“I see,” Ibn Ghalib said again. “Well, I’m not sure how I can help you. Who did you say sent you?”

Just loud enough for Ibn Ghalib and the other three to hear, Daniel said, “We were sent by the Archangel Uriel, Mullah Mohammad.”

The man nodded, and seemed to age another twenty years before Jack’s eyes. “I see,” he said again, with far more gravity. “I knew this day would come, but I prayed to Allah that I would not live to see it. Come with me.”

He turned and led them down another hallway to a stone staircase, and then proceeded down. As they followed, Jack whispered to Daniel, “How’d you know he was Mohammad?”

“While you were talking to him,” Daniel whispered back, “the other worshippers were quietly ushered out. Even though he seemed calm, his pulse rate, which I could see by his jugular, was rapid, indicating he was much more agitated than he appeared. And he only showed up after you asked for him by name. Seemed like a solid guess.”

“You must have been hell on wheels in an operating theater,” Jack said.

Daniel just looked at him. It occurred to Jack that he still didn’t know why Daniel quit being a surgeon.

“Just because I’m old doesn’t mean I’m deaf,” Mohammad said in front of them. He led them out into a narrow, low-ceilinged stone passageway, thick with dust.

“Sorry,” Daniel and Jack said in unison.

Mohammad led them into a small room, which appeared to be empty. He walked over to the stone wall and pushed in on a stone, moving it about an inch. Then he stepped over a few feet and pushed another. He pushed seven total when they heard a deep rumbling. Dust shook loose from the walls as the far wall receded as one piece, then moved aside, exposing a small alcove.

“Behold,” Mohammad said. “The Lost Gospel of the Angels.”

#

Sandy was standing guard outside with the men. He saw the usual traffic patterns, pretty much what you’d expect to see at a holy Muslim shrine. It was starting to get dark, and he knew the heat of the day would fade quickly. He was going to have a hard time keeping warm if they didn’t hurry—

Something tripped an alarm in his mind, something in his peripheral vision. He looked over and saw a group of men who didn’t seem to be all that different from any of the other traditionally dressed pilgrims to the mosque. They wore long flowing robes, and—

And if you didn’t know what to look for, you might not see the weapons and explosives they were concealing.

“Sergeant, radio Camp [whatever is closest to Najaf] and have them send reinforcements,” Sandy said.

“Sir? How many?”

Sandy did a quick calculation on what the men he saw could do if they really had as much semtex as he thought they did. “All of them.”

[In this chapter, make Jack wait outside and observe the approaching demons. Inside, give Jack’s dialogue, minus the Arabic, to Susan or Jeff. That way we avoid making Sandy a POV character. Never seeing a scene from inside his head is vital to his reveal in the third act of Crusade to be one of the Grigori. Also, have him ask Jack in the Humvee if the database lists all the immortals, and have Jack explain that there are 200 demons, part of something called the Grigori, that are listed only by their true names, but with no human identities.]

25: Turnabout Is Unfair Play

Kyung-Soon Cho smiled and nodded as the last customer left for the night. Shin was standing by the door, smiling as well, and locked the door behind the man. He gave a little wave through the glass, and Kyung-Soon almost laughed. Her husband seemed so childlike, sometimes.

“Come now!” she said, turning to face her two daughters. They were cleaning up, Leah was sweeping each aisle of their small grocery store, and Mary was fronting the shelves, making the stock look neat and orderly. “We need to get upstairs,” she said. “The news will be on soon.”

“It’s okay, Mom,” Leah said. “If they’d posted another video, I would have gotten an alert on my phone.”

“Pah!” Kyung-Soon said.

“What?”

“You rely too much on your phone. You need to look around more often.” Kyung-Soon closed out the cash register and put the drawer in the safe. There would be time to balance it in the morning. She had to get upstairs.

“Come now, you heard your mother,” Shin said. “Let’s go upstairs and see what trouble your brother has gotten into now.”

Kyung-Soon didn’t care much for her husband’s flippant tone, but she knew it was just his way of dealing with the issue. They’d only heard from Daniel that one time, and every other bit of information about how he was came from the television news, as they rebroadcast the videos posted by that woman from Washington. Kyung-Soon didn’t care much for her, either, but at least the videos showed that her son was still alive. Right now, that’s all that mattered.

She and Shin shepherded the girls upstairs, along the rickety stairway that ran along the back wall of the building. They got up to the top floor and flowed into their home. Kyung-Soon was proud of what she and Shin had been able to build for their family. Daniel, Leah and Mary hadn’t had all the newest toys and designer clothes growing up, but they knew they were loved and they got solid educations. Leah was about to start law school in the fall, and Mary was on track to graduate high school with honors. So how had things gone so wrong with Daniel?

“Turn on the television,” Shin said, “I want to—“

Mary screamed.

“What is it?” Kyung-Soon said just as she saw the answer for herself. Two men stepped out of their kitchen into the living room. They were wearing expensive suits as well as gloves.

“Who are you?” Shin demanded. “What are you doing here?”

“We’re here to send a message,” one of the men said. He walked up to Shin, reached out his hands and put them around Shin’s neck.

No…

With a crack far too loud for the room, the man let go and Kyung-Soon watched her husband of thirty-two years collapse to the floor like a sack of potatoes.

“No!” she screamed, and ran to the man. He back handed her across the face and she fell back.

“Girls!” she said, tasting blood, “Run! Downsta—“

The other man, who had walked behind her when she rushed the man who had ki—who had—her mind couldn’t complete the thought—the other man had walked behind her and locked the door.

“It wouldn’t be the right message if we let you go,” he said.

Mary started to cry, and Leah hugged her, telling her it would be all right, even though it was clear she knew as well as Kyung-Soon did that it wouldn’t be.

“If your son had stayed out of our business, this all could have been avoided,” the first man said.

Daniel…

“But now it’s too late,” the second man said. He took some kind of electronic device out of his pocket, pointed it first at Sh—Shin, then at her, and finally at the girls. It’s a camera, Kyung-Soon realized. He’s filming us.

“Any last words?” he asked.

She held her hands together in front of her and began to pray.

“Our Father, who art in heaven,

Hallowed be thy Name.

Thy kingdom come.

Thy will be done,

On earth as it is in heaven.

Give us this day our daily bread.

And forgive us our trespasses,

As we forgive those who trespass against us.

And lead us not into temptation,

But deliver us from evil—“

“Yeah, about that,” the man said.

#

Daniel pulled the small carry on he’d brought over his shoulder and trudged out of the Iraqi Air 737. He was already exhausted. They’d flown from JFK to Frankfurt, Germany, and then switched planes to fly down to Baghdad.

And now they were here. Almost halfway around the world from his parents in San Francisco. Jeff and Susan fell in behind him, and he saw Jack striding ahead like he just got up from a massage and a nap. Daniel had noticed that while he and the other two “civilians” had grown more and more ragged over their journey, Jack became more directed, more determined, the closer they got to Iraq. They hadn’t been able to sit together on the flight, so Daniel hadn’t had a chance to ask the FBI man about his excitement.

No, Daniel thought, that was the wrong word. Jack wasn’t happy to be here. If anything, he was grimmer than the rest of them. But there was something there. A focus.

He also noticed that Jack was already on the phone. He remembered a comment in Frankfurt about Jack calling his “contacts” when they landed, but who did he know in Baghdad?

None of them had checked baggage, so they skipped baggage claim and went straight out to the street. Daniel expected to have to take a bus or something to Najaf, where the Mosque of Imam Ali was located. It was a little over a hundred miles, according to Susan. Too far to take a cab.

Daniel saw Jack stop and exchange salutes with some US servicemen in desert camo. Then Jack hugged one of them, and motioned them over.

“This is Captain Bob Sandarski, United States Army. He and his men will be escorting us to Najaf.”

Sandarski, a burly man in his mid-thirties, reached out to shake Daniel’s hand. “You civvies can call me Sandy,” he said with a trace of southern drawl. “I’m only going to insist LT here calls me Captain Sandarski.”

“LT?” Daniel said.

“Sandy was a butter bar back in ’03, when I was a First Lieutenant,” Jack said, adding with emphasis, “and his commanding officer.”

“You get one. From now on it’s Captain Sandarski, G-Man.”

“Let’s get loaded up,” Jack said. “Hand your bags to the soldiers, and we’ll get a move on. How’s traffic today, Captain?”

Sandarski adjusted his cap. “Insurgent troubles in Al Hillah,” he said. “Got Highway 8 blocked off both ways. We’re going to take 9 through Karbala, should be about three, maybe four hours ride to Najaf.”

“Let’s get a move on, then,” Jack said, ushering Daniel, Jeff and Susan to the two waiting Humvees. “I want to get there before dark.”

#

Stan Winchell switched tabs and checked his site stats again. Friggin’ amazing. There was just no substitute for violence and controversy. Especially if people had to come to his site to get it. He’d had to file a few DMCA takedown notices in the past week, keep the moochers from copying his content and using it to drive traffic to their own damn sites. He even made sure to watermark the video with his site URL so it showed up even with the TV networks rebroadcast it, which they just couldn’t resist doing. His site traffic had skyrocketed this week and it just kept getting better. Ad buys were through the roof, and as soon as he could find some good offshore tax shelters to keep the dough away from Uncle Sam, he was going to have a very good year.

He made a mental note to buy Susan a token of his appreciation. A sweater or something.

His other reporters were feeling the heat. He could tell. None of them had ever brought him anything this juicy. Well, the bar was raised, boys and girls. New American Century had hit the big time, and if they didn’t—

His computer beeped at him. It was his instant messenger going off. I thought I had it set to Do Not Disturb, he thought. Weird.

He checked the flashing window in his taskbar. It was from some random combination of letters and numbers, friggin spambot. He was just about to close it when he saw the message.

We warned you.

“Warned me? What the fu—“ He stopped. Something was different. Stan spent nearly all his time in his house. One of the benefits of working from home, at least to him, was that he didn’t have to rub elbows with all the idiots out there unless he chose to, and he rarely chose to. But by nature of spending that much time in his home, he’d grown finely attuned to it, would notice the slightest change. He’d even put in a bunch of soundproofing so he wouldn’t have to listen to his idiot neighbors. And he knew something was wrong. He didn’t need science poindexters to tell him the air pressure had dropped slightly, or that the temperature had gone up half a degree. He knew.

Someone was in his house. Someone other than him.

He looked at the screen again.

We warned you.

Nah, he thought, I’m just getting spooked by my own success. There’s nobody—

He heard a footstep, behind him.

Stan turned around and saw a man standing in his living room. The man wore a designer suit, custom tailored from the looks of it. Snazzy, but not ostentatious. And the man was wearing surgical gloves.

Oh, this can’t be good.

“You don’t take direction very well, do you, Mister Winchell?”

The question was so out of left field Stan didn’t know how to answer it. He should have told the guy to get out of his house. He should have gone for the gun he kept under his desk. But all he could say was, “Um…”

“Well said,” the man said, and took a step forward.

The movement jarred loose whatever had Stan’s brain in neutral. “Get back!” he said. “I have a gun!”

“Yes, your second amendment rights. Please, by all means, get it.”

What the fuck was this guy smoking? Stan reached down and grabbed the Smith & Wesson he kept, loaded, of course, in a desk drawer. His buddies at the range preferred Glocks, but he’d be damned if he was going to buy an Austrian gun. A good old-fashioned American Smith & Wesson was good enough for him.

“Do you feel better?” the man asked. “More in control?”

Stan noticed the guy had an accent. Not much of one, but it was there, just behind the words. Sounded… what, European? No. That wasn’t it.

“Yeah, now get the fuck out of my house!” Stan said.

The man smiled. “In good time, Mister Winchell. After you are dead.”

“Fuck!” Stan said. He recognized the accent! It was fucking Arabic! He fired the pistol, but the first shot went wide, over the guy’s shoulder. Fucking camel jockey didn’t even flinch.

“Your eloquence astounds me, surely,” the man said. He still hadn’t gone for a weapon of his own. Didn’t this idiot towel head know what he was dealing with? Why is he still fucking with me? Stan wondered.

“Would you care to try again?”

“You bet your ass, Abdul,” Stan said and fired again. This time he hit the bastard square, right in the center mass. Would have been a bull’s-eye on the range.

The fucker didn’t fall down.

In fact, he smiled. The bastard smiled! And then it dawned on Stan. Holy shit, this is one of them things Susan’s been filming! A…

A demon.

“There it is,” the demon said. “I can see it in your face. You know what I am, now?”

Stan nodded.

“And you know why I’m here?”

Again, Stan nodded.

“And, of course, you know you’re already dead.”

Stan nodded and dropped the pistol.

“Good,” the demon said. “Then we can begin, and take our time. You have much to atone for, Mister Winchell. One of our kind hasn’t been killed in millennia. And now you will pay the price.”

His neighbors heard nothing when Stan started to scream.

24: Briefed by an Angel

Daniel and Jeff were shoved into the back of one squad car, and Susan and Jack were in another. Daniel slumped back in his seat as they pulled away from the steel mill. He had no idea where things would go from here, or there would be any demonic reprisals for Batarel’s death—surely losing one of their members permanently wasn’t a common occurrence—but for now, he was actually glad things were out of his hands. The next step wasn’t his to make, and that was a welcome change. The last week—had it only been a week?—had been enough stress to last him years.

He watched the buildings of Bethlehem slide past out the window. Fortunately, the cops in the front seat weren’t the talkative types. They got one call on their radios, something Daniel only barely heard. The rest of the trip went by in silence.

Then the cops pulled to a stop not at a police station or municipal courthouse, but rather an upscale office complex.

“That doesn’t look like a jail to me,” Jeff said.

“Yeah, I noticed.”

“No talking!” said the cop riding shotgun. He and his partner got out, and opened the back doors. “Come on, get out.”

Jeff and Daniel got out of the car and saw the second squad car pull up behind them. In a few moments, Jack and Susan, both still handcuffed, were next to them again.”

“Let’s go,” said the cop, and ushered them inside.

The building looked and smelled new, Daniel thought. They were hustled over to the elevators, and taken up to the top floor. The cops led them down a hallway and into an unmarked office. They stood in front of a receptionist’s desk with no receptionist.

A tall blond man in a suit came out to meet them. “Thank you, officers,” he said. “Please remove their handcuffs.” All four of them were uncuffed.

“And I believe there was a camera?” the man said, and one of the cops handed over Susan’s video camera.

“Excellent,” the man said. “Thank you, again, officers. That will be all.”

The four uniformed cops exchanged looks and left without a word.

Daniel turned to Jack. “Your doing?” he asked.

“No,” Jack said. He looked just as puzzled as Daniel.

“Please,” the blond man said. “All will be explained. If you will come with me?”

With a shrug, Jack followed, and the rest of them followed Jack. As they walked down the hall, Daniel noticed that the offices were nice, but bland. There didn’t seem to be anything to indicate corporate identity, nor did anyone seem to be there other than their blond benefactor.

The man led them into a well appointed conference room. “Please, have a seat,” he said. “Can I get anyone anything? Water, soda?”

“No thanks,” Jack said. “I think we’d really like to know what’s going on.” They all took seats around the conference table, the blond man sitting at the head of the table.

“Of course,” he said.

“Don’t get us wrong,” Daniel said. “We’re glad not to be in jail, but…”

“Yes, I understand. This must be very jarring. Perhaps we should start with introductions. I know who you are, obviously. I’ve been following your exploits for some time now.”

“And you are?” Daniel said.

The man nodded. “I am the Archangel Uriel.”

#

Susan couldn’t help it, but her mouth dropped open. “Uriel?” she said. “The angel who stood at the gates of Eden with a flaming sword? That Uriel?”

“Archangel,” Uriel corrected. “And I don’t recall a flaming sword. Something probably got lost in translation.”

Susan gulped. Was this really the same being she’d read about in Sunday School?

Uriel started playing back the video from the camera. They could all hear Daniel and Batarel on the catwalk, even the things Batarel didn’t intend to be overheard. “Excellent work, Miss Richardson,” the archangel said.

“Thank you,” she said. She felt her cheeks warm, and was sure she was blushing. “Please call me Susan.”

“Very well, Susan.” He stopped the playback as Batarel started screaming, and put the camera down on the table.

“We are very impressed with your work, all of you,” he said. “I can’t remember the last time anyone killed a demon, and I can remember a very, very long time. I’m relatively sure it has never been done by human hands. You all achieved an accomplishment today unique in the history of your race. You should be proud.”

“Thanks?” Jeff said.

“I’ve been monitoring your progress,” Uriel said. “Even before today, you had already achieved much. No one who has stumbled upon the secret has ever lasted as long as you did. Part of that, I attribute to demonic overconfidence, assuming Batarel could handle this on his own without further assistance. But equal measure must go to you. Such tenacity is to be recognized, and rewarded.”

“Rewarded?” said Jeff. “What are we talking about, here? I got an RV to get out of impound.”

“How long have you been monitoring our progress?” Jack asked before Uriel had to deal with the embarrassing question.

“Oh, since the beginning,” Uriel said. “I knew about Mister Cho’s discovery as soon as the demons did. Our struggle is very old, and there are really no more secrets among us.”

“Wait,” Daniel said. “You knew what I was going through the whole week and you’re just stepping in now? What kind of angels are you?”

“Daniel,” Susan said, but Uriel was willing to fend for himself. Susan still couldn’t believe she was in a room with such a being. It was impertinent to question him or his motives.

“We’re the same angels that have guided your race from the beginning. But the key word there is guided. We don’t generally intervene in human affairs directly. If we did, your achievements wouldn’t be your own. We just help you stay on the path.”

“That’s all fine and good, but he was trying to kill us!” Daniel shouted.

“Daniel!” Susan said. “Don’t raise your voice to—“

“It’s all right, Miss Richardson. I completely understand Mister Cho being upset.”

Daniel rose out of his seat. “Upset?”

“Please, Mister Cho, be seated.” When Daniel didn’t sit immediately, Uriel added, “Please.”

Daniel sat down, and said nothing.

“Yes, Batarel was trying to kill you. As he has killed thousands of humans. As the demons do, successfully, every other time in human history their secret has been discovered. Don’t you see? That is precisely why I intervened. Because this time, he didn’t kill you. You killed him. You have proven yourself worthy.”

Daniel slumped back in his seat, and Jack gestured for him to settle down.

“Worth of what, sir?” Jack said. At least he, Susan thought, was showing the proper deference.

“Our assistance. Currently, you have only Miss Richardson’s photographic evidence. This is exemplary, but everyone at this table knows that mere video is no longer proof of anything in a digital age. If you’re going to prove the existence of the demons beyond a doubt, you need more. I can provide you with some, and direct you to the rest.”

“Why are you doing this?” Daniel said. Susan was tempted to haul off and smack him, if she didn’t think that would be disrespectful to the archangel.

“Mister Cho, I believe we covered that.”

“We covered why you’re stepping in now, rather than when we really needed you,” Daniel said, glancing at Susan, probably to see if she was going to interrupt him again. She only glared at him.

“But I still don’t understand why you’re helping us in the first place. Don’t you have as much to lose as the demons if we prove that immortals exist?”

“No, Mister Cho. We are not demons. We are not corrupting the human race. We are your shepherds, as we have been since the dawn of time.”

“Then why haven’t you revealed yourselves before now?”

“It is only now that you have proven yourselves worthy—“

“No,” Daniel said, interrupting an archangel, “I get why now is the right time to reveal the demons. I want to know why you have kept yourselves a secret, all this time. Why not reveal yourselves and leave the demons out of it?”

“Danny, maybe we shouldn’t look this particular gift horse—“

“It’s a fair question, Mister Frankel,” Uriel said. “The answer, Mister Cho, is simple. Times have changed.

“When humans were still largely agrarian, as they have been for most of recorded history and before, religion formed the basis for communities, communities the basis for nations, and nations the basis for society. In such an environment, it was more effective for us to work behind the scenes, allow humans to try new things, with only our hand guiding the priests, who in turn guided communities.

“In the past few hundred years, the fabric of society has begun to unravel. People no longer believe as they once did. Even the ones who say they do often act in complete opposition to their supposed sacred beliefs. And some among the angels have come to realize that the time for belief as a form of—“

“Control,” Daniel said.

“—guidance, Mister Cho, may be passing. The trend has been building ever since Galileo, and it is clear. The belief of the twenty first Christian century is in fact, in science. Skepticism is the new religion. And so if humanity requires proof to accept our guidance, we will, at last, provide such proof. But we will do so on our terms, in such a way as to contrast our good intentions against the corruption of the demons.”

“You know what they say about good intentions,” Daniel said.

“Daniel!” Susan said. “I’ve had it with you! Why can’t you just accept what Uriel’s telling us? Why do you always have to be such a pain in the ass?”

“Please, Miss Richardson, it’s all right. Mister Cho’s skepticism, his suspicion, is exactly why we’re having this conversation at all. Mister Cho is representative of the human race as a whole, I’m afraid. If I can’t convince him, then our cause is lost.

“So here is what I am offering. I will offer what protection I can, but sadly that is probably less than you think. Our organization left fighting behind millennia ago, unlike the demons. Your true protection is knowledge, and sharing that knowledge with the world.”

He pulled a small USB thumb drive out of his coat pocket and slid it across the table to Susan. “Contained on that device is a database. This database contains the name of every angel and demon, along with the various human identities every one of us has assumed throughout recorded history. A complete record of our doings in your world, and of the demons as well. I encourage you to pass it along to your colleagues in the press, Miss Richardson, so that they may begin checking it against your own historical record.”

From another pocket, he pulled out four envelopes, and passed them out to each person at the table. “In these envelopes are papers establishing new, temporary, identities for you all, which should allow you to travel and evade the demons for a while. They also include airline tickets from this city’s airport to New York, and from there to Baghdad.”

“Baghdad?” Jack said. “What’s in Iraq?”

“Buried under an ancient mosque, likely forgotten, is a scroll. This is the Lost Gospel Of The Angels, a work that documents our history in far more detail than any of your surviving holy books. It tells the story of my people, how the demons actually fell from Grace, and the war between us. Authenticate not only its contents but the antiquity of the document itself, and verify the information contained in the database, and you will have all the proof the modern world requires.”

Uriel stood up. “A map to the mosque is included in your paperwork. Now, if you’ll excuse me, we all have work to do. There is a car waiting for you downstairs. The driver will take you somewhere to procure you all a change of clothing, and then escort you to the airport. I wish you good luck.”

The archangel held the door open for them as they exited, and then saw them to the elevator. He was smiling as the elevator doors closed.

#

Three hours later, Jack sat with the other three in JFK International Airport, waiting for their flight to Baghdad. The terminal waiting area was at least half filled with soldiers clad in BDUs. I guess they’re still going with commercial transport for a lot of the deployments, Jack thought.

Susan was taking advantage of the airport wifi to upload the last video. “Are you sure that’s wise?” Jack said.

“What do you mean? I’m still using onion routing. No one will know where we are.”

“That’s not what I mean,” Jack said. “I’m worried that the demons will see this as an escalation.”

“You mean,” Jeff said, “as opposed to killing one of their own, which they almost certainly already know about?”

“It makes me uncomfortable,” Jack said. “I saw warring tribes do this sort of thing in Iraq. It always invited reprisals.”

“Jack,” Susan said, “we’re under the protection of the angels now. Nothing can touch us.”

23: The Fires of Hell

About an hour later, Jeff pulled into a service station near Easton, Pennsylvania. They’d gone west on US 78, hoping to break the pattern of going north on I-95. About ten minutes out from the hotel, the car had started missing, the engine surging in an odd way. Figuring something in there took a bullet, they decided to get as far as they could, and it looked like the Lehigh Valley of Pennsylvania was it. They’d lost all of Jack’s weapons and armor, but they still had the supplies Jeff had packed in the trunk and of course, Susan still had her laptop, the camera, and a video to post.

Jeff parked the car and popped the hood. Jack and Daniel peered into the engine compartment. There was smoke just starting to billow up from somewhere, now that they’d stopped.

“Oh, that doesn’t look good,” Jack said.

“Nope, not good at all,” Daniel said.

“What do you think?” Jack said. “Engine block?”

“Could be,” Daniel said. “Maybe one of the headers.”

Jeff walked alongside them and looked into the engine compartment. “Do either one of you chuckleheads know a damn thing about cars?”

Jack and Daniel looked at each other, shrugged.

“Then step away from the vehicle, please!” He stuck his head deeper into the engine compartment. Yep, there it was. Shit.

“Bullet pierced the radiator, bounced around a bit, and hit one of the intakes. I can patch it up enough to get us a little further, but we ain’t getting out of the state unless we replace the engine or swap cars.” The doctor and the FBI agent nodded sagely, as if they’d been expecting that.

“Boys?” Susan said. “Let’s find a diner or something with wifi. I need to get to work.”

Jeff shut the hood and they all followed Susan down the street. They hadn’t said much in the car, other than Jack’s suggestion to take 78, and they remained quiet as they walked through the muggy Pennsylvania night towards a neon sign promising “EATS” and “INTERNET”. Man, truck stops have changed over the years, Jeff thought.

They got themselves a table next to a power outlet and sat down. Susan had her laptop plugged in and ready to go before the waitress even came by for their drink orders. Everyone ordered coffee. It was getting close to midnight, and none of them had slept very well the night before.

Once they were all settled in, Daniel started. “Okay, so that sucked.”

Jack gave a sharp little laugh. “You could say that.”

“How’d he find us so fast?” Jeff asked.

“That was probably my fault,” Jack said. “Paid for the pizzas with my debit card. If their network is as far reaching as it appears, they probably had somebody looking for me.”

“I’d put money on it,” Susan said. “They probably have bots out on all of us by now.”

“Bots?” Daniel said. “Like robots?”

“Virtual robots, but yeah. Once you have access to the VeriSign or some other identity clearing house for credit card transactions, it doesn’t take much to set up a few automated processes to watch for something specific, one of us using a credit card, say, and setting off an alert. I thought about mentioning it at the time, but figured they had no idea to be watching Jack.”

“They’re clearly smarter and better organized than any of us thought,” Jack said. “And now we’ve learned that the hard way. What do we still have?”

“Just what I have in the trunk of a dying car,” Jeff said. “My laptop, a hunting rifle, couple of pistols, ammo, some blankets. Oh and a tire iron should we sink to that.”

“Great,” Daniel said. “Nothing like going after an ancient demon with a friggin’ club.”

“Especially given that we know bashing his head in barely slows him down,” Jack said. “That was a good plan back there, Daniel, way to think on your feet.”

“It bought us one more day, if that. It’s only a matter of time before he finds us again.” The waitress brought their food, various omelets, and refilled their coffee.

“Still, it was good thinking. I really expected blowing him up to work. I guess we’ve got to kick it up a notch.”

Jeff bit into his omelet. “Good luck with that, Emeril.”

“Besides,” Jack continued, “we only had one more day anyway. Especially after Susan posts again. By the way, how much did you get? On camera?”

“Uploading it now,” Susan said. “I watched it on the way here. It’s pretty choppy towards the end as we were trying to get to the car without getting shot, but I got a peach of a shot of Batarel standing in the door frame. And I’m sure my editor Stan will be flogging this for every cent he can milk out of it. It’ll get around.”

“Good,” Jack said. “We’re going to need that.”

“Why?” Jeff asked.

“Because tomorrow, or later today, depending on how you look at it, is our last shot. After that, our best bet is to turn ourselves in to the FBI. I think I can get you put into protective custody.”

Jeff snorted. “You just saw how deep their network of informants goes, their so-called ‘minions.’ Don’t even try to tell me the feds aren’t compromised.”

“At this point,” Jack said, “I’m inclined to agree with you. Which is why turning ourselves in is such a good idea. It’s the perfect lure. I have a few people I can trust implicitly, help me lay the trap.”

“With us as bait,” Daniel said.

“What better bait do we have?” Jack asked. “We know Batarel won’t give up. How better to ensure he attacks on our terms?”

“There’s something I don’t get,” Susan said. “If he’s intent on killing us because he’s trying to get us out of the way, make us disappear, isn’t it already too late? I mean, every video I post proves their existence.”

“Only to folks like Jeff, Susan,” Jack said. “People who already believe. No offense.”

“None taken,” Jeff said.

“To people who are inclined to believe these things can’t happen, like I was, and Daniel was, until last week, your videos still look like a stunt. Special effects magic. Most of the networks are spinning them that way. The amazing internet prank that has Hollywood jealous. If we all disappear, the whole thing fades away, even now.”

“So how do we prove it?” Daniel asked.

“We don’t disappear, for starters,” Jack said. “And we have a better chance of that in protective custody than we do running around on our own. Even if they have someone on the inside, they’[ll have to fight their way through a bunch of FBI agents. Safety in numbers.”

“And how do we know you’re not going to just turn us over to your buddies in Homeland Security and ship us off to Gitmo?” Jeff asked, pointing his fork for emphasis.

“Jeff, are you serious? What about the last twelve hours, man? I’m as far off the reservation as you are by now. But this is our best shot.”

“I say we do it,” Susan said. “Let’s just get it over with. I’m tired of running.”

“Do it,” Daniel said. “But be careful. Make sure you turn us over to the right people.”

“I’ll call my boss first thing in the morning, have him come out here to meet us personally. And I won’t tell him exactly where to meet us until he gets here. Safe enough?”

“Yeah,” Jeff said. “That should work. I’m still not thrilled to be at the tender mercies of the FBI, but it beats the alternative.”

“Okay,” Daniel said. “All that’s left now is to find a place to sleep, and then an emergency fall back just in case Batarel finds us first.”

“Hey, Susie?” Jeff said. “Can you bring up where we are in Google Maps?”

“Sure, hang on.” After a moment, she turned the laptop to Jeff.

He moused around for a minute, then said, “I’ve got just the place.”

#

The next morning Jack got up at six, even without his phone to wake him up. Habit, the thought. He and Daniel had slept on the floor, ceding the beds in their room to Susan and Jeff. They were in a motel across Route 22 from Lehigh International Airport, and just down the road from Bethlehem Steel, where Jeff thought they could make a stand against Batarel if need be. The nanotechnology in his blood might be able to overcome a grenade, but Jack didn’t see how it was possible Batarel could survive being burned/melted in molten steel. Nothing living could withstand that.

Jack took a shower and then put on the same clothes he’d been wearing for two days. They’d need to get a change of clothes for everyone later, maybe they could dart over to the mall and do that while he was waiting for Lou to get here. He snuck out the door, the other three still sleeping off the adrenaline of the night before.

He walked a couple miles down the road, happy for the quiet morning exercise. Besides, he wanted to conserve what few miles the car had left. He finally stopped at a convenience store, bought himself some junk food for breakfast and eyed the ancient pay phone mounted outside.

It was an old model, strictly coin operated, no card slot. Hell, he figured he was lucky to find a pay phone at all anymore. Thank God for small towns, he thought. Bethlehem was probably just big enough to be called a city, but not by much. A lot in this town probably hadn’t changed for twenty years or more. Good, that was exactly what they needed. Big enough to hide in, old fashioned enough to stay mostly off the grid.

He picked up the receiver and dialed the operator. He said he’d like to make a collect call, and gave the operator—well, the computer acting as the operator—Lou’s direct office line. His boss was sure to be in the office just a bit after seven.

“You have a collect call from,” the recorded voice said, then “Jack Harris” in his own voice. “Do you accept the ch—“

“Yes!” Lou shouted.

“I’m sorry,” the robot continued, “I didn’t get that. You have a collect call from…” Jack suppressed a laugh for a minute as Lou tried to get the robot to understand what he was saying. Finally, it sank in and the robot dropped off the call.

“Jack, where the fuck are you?” What was pretty abrupt for Lou, he must be under a lot of pressure. Poor guy. Jack wondered who had tried to kill him recently. Probably not an immortal demon. Those were rare.

“Good to talk to you too, Lou.”

“Cut the shit, Agent Harris.”

“I have Cho and his associates. I also have a damn interesting story about what they’re running from. If you’ve read Hick’s lab reports, you know what I’m talking about. I want all four of us put in protective custody, and I want it done today.”

“What you’re going to do, Agent Harris, is arrest the suspects and transport them back to DC for trial.”

“I don’t think you’re listening, Lou. We’re doing this my way. I’ll explain myself to the director after the fact if need be. But I want you to fly into Lehigh International Airport today and come get us. I’ll tell you where specifically when you get here. We’re playing this safe and by the book, Lou.”

“By the book is you getting your ass back to DC as you have been ordered!”

“Not in a protective custody case, and you know this. Don’t fight me on this Lou.”

“I am your superior officer!” Lou was pissed. Jack thought Lou must be in deeper with his nebulous contacts on the Hill than Jack thought.

“And I’m doing this by the book, sir. I require the assistance of my direct superior to establish protective custody for material witnesses—“

“Suspects!”

“—in a terrorism investigation. Now you don’t want your reluctance to provide such assistance to become a matter of public record, do you?”

“Are you blackmailing me, Agent Harris?”

“No sir, merely requesting that you do your job, and by the book. Sir.”

The line went silent, and Jack knew Lou was just stewing in being put over a barrel. He’d buy the guy a few beers later and smooth it over. After this was all taken care of. Lou would realize Jack was just playing hardball. Happened all the time in DC.

“I’ll be on the first plane out,” Lou said. “Don’t fuck with me on this, Jack.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it, sir. I’ll call your cell this afternoon to vector you in. See you when you get here.” Jack hung up the phone.

Hadn’t gone as smoothly as he’d hoped, but the plan was in motion. He started walking back to the motel.

#

“Let’s get a move on, kids,” Jeff said.

They’d packed everything into the trunk of the Crown Vic, and Jack took one more look around the motel room. With any luck, this would be the last one they’d see, and their normal lives, plus federal protection, could begin tomorrow.

They walked out to the car, and all breathed a sigh of relief as it started. Daniel was in the back seat with Susan, who was filming the whole journey. Jeff handed a cell phone to Jack, riding shotgun. “Hang on to this, it’s the last disposable cell I have.”

Jeff put the car in gear and they drove south a couple miles, turning into the parking lot of Bethlehem Steel. Jeff pulled around to the loading docks and parked the car out of the way, but with a clear view of both the entry to the parking lot and the open doors of the steel mill. They all hoped they wouldn’t have to force their way in there, but that was all a matter of who showed up first, Batarel or Lou Gottlieb.

“Okay,” Jeff said. “We’re here. You think he’s in town yet?”

“Only one way to find out,” Jack said. He dialed the phone.

Lou picked it up halfway through the first ring. “Hello?”

“Good to hear your voice, Lou,” Jack said. “Flight was okay?”

“Let’s not drag this out, Agent Harris. I’m here. Where the fuck are you?”

Wow, still mad, Jack thought. “We’re at Bethlehem Steel, around back by the loading dock. Do you need directions?”

Lou hung up.

“Huh,” Jack said. “He’s still really angry.”

“Should we be worried?” Susan said.

“I doubt it,” Jack said. “I’m worried, but more because after this I still have to work for the guy. You guys should be okay.”

They sat there and watched the workers on the loading docks for a few minutes, as they offloaded steel I-beams onto flatbed eighteen wheelers. “How much do you think one of those weighs?” Jeff said.

“I don’t know,” Jack said. “It’s got to be tons, because they need that crane to move them.”

Finally, they saw a sedan pull around the side of the building and head towards them. It looked like a bland rental, but there was something off about it—

“Get out of the car,” Jack said. “Now. Jeff, pop the trunk.”

They scrambled out and Jack ran to the back, where he started passing out firearms.

“What’s going on?” Daniel asked. “Is that your boss?”

“Yes, but he’s not alone.”

They peeked around the car and watched as Lou parked the car directly in their way, blocking any attempt they made to drive out with the whole width of his vehicle. The driver side was closer to them, and they saw Lou get out. Jack noticed that his boss was also holding a sidearm, his FBI-standard 10 mm automatic.

The passenger opened his door, got out, and stood up to face them. It was Batarel. His face was still burned from the explosion the night before, but a lot of his hair had already grown back. His suit, as always, was spotless.

“I’m going to need you to turn over the suspects, Jack,” Lou said. He was probably a good fifty meters away, giving him reaction time to get back in the car and ram them if they tried to make a break for it. Also too far away for any kind of accuracy with a pistol shot.

Jack watched as Batarel stepped around the car to stand next to Lou. “What’s going on, Lou?”

“Jack, just do as you’re told for once.”

Jack aimed his pistol at Batarel, then hissed to Jeff, Daniel and Susan, “When I distract them, run like hell for that loading dock. Got it?”

None of them said anything, and Jack wasn’t about to take his eyes off the demons, but he saw movement in his peripheral vision he decided to interpret as nodding.

“Jack, this is your last chance,” Lou said. “This doesn’t have to get messy.”

“Look at your pal, there, Lou. It’s way past messy.”

Jack heard sirens. Of course, Lou would have called in the locals. That settled it. He took careful aim, and fired twice at Batarel. A puff of red mist as the demon was knocked back over the hood of the rental car told him he’d hit at least once.

“Run!” Jack screamed, and they all hauled ass for the loading dock. Jack peaked over his shoulder just once to see Lou already back in the car, probably calling for more backup, the demon running straight for them, and the first of the local police cruisers pulling into the parking lots, sirens and lights going.

Why did I even think this was going to be easy? Jack wondered.

Daniel and Susan helped Jeff up on to the loading dock, and Jack hurried them past the confused workmen into the steel mill. One of them, a foreman by the looks of him, made a half hearted attempt to stop them.

“You can’t go in there!” he said.

Jack flashed his ID. “FBI! Need to borrow this!”

He grabbed the controls of the crane and swung the arm out wide, workers ducking for cover. The three ton I-beam jolted out and hit Batarel square, knocking the demon through the air.

“You just killed that man!” the foreman shouted.

“Don’t worry,” Jack said as he ran into the building, “he’ll get up.”

#

Daniel ran, half guiding, half dragging Jeff along with him. Susan was still filming, aiming behind them at the chase as much as she looked where she was going. All Daniel saw around them was gray. Industrial concrete, steel pipes, everything gray. But he didn’t need to see what he was looking for. As they had discussed the night before, he was following the heat.

They rounded a corner and Daniel heard a gunshot behind them, and then another in answer. They better find it soon, because—

There! He saw an orange glow ahead, and the heat increased. They raced into the furnace room, and Daniel saw a huge basin in the middle of the room, the source of the glow and the heat. Molten steel. He dragged Susan and Jeff forward and shoved them towards a metal staircase that led to scaffolding above.

“Get them!” shouted Jack’s boss, whatever his name was. Jack ran into the room just in front of the cops and scrambled up the stairs after them.

“Keep going!” Jack said. “He’s right behind me!”

Daniel kept the others moving. The staircase opened out onto a catwalk that went across the room above the steel. Daniel could feel intense heat up here, and saw the steelworkers below clearing out as more cops entered the room.

Then, across the catwalk, he saw four uniformed officers blocking their way. Jack came right up behind them, more cops and his boss right on his ass.

They were trapped.

“Okay, this could have gone better,” Jack said.

“That’s not encouraging,” Daniel said.

“We’re not sunk yet.”

“Could have fooled me.” Daniel saw the cops closing in on them from both sides.

“Let me through!” Daniel saw Batarel push his way between the uniformed officers behind Jack’s boss, who turned to try to placate him.

“It’s okay, sir, we’ve got them,” he said. “They won’t bother you anymore.”

“I know they won’t,” Batarel said, and pushed past him. “Because you’re going to shoot them.”

“You can’t shoot us!” Susan said, still filming, bless her. “Not with all these cops here!”

“All the better firing squad, Miss Richardson. “And then we can just dump the bodies in the steel. You’ve actually solved my problem for me.”

“Let me take this,” Daniel whispered to Jack, and stepped between the rest of them and Batarel.

“Ah, Mister Cho. I think you’ll go last. I want you to suffer.”

“Do these cops know what you really are, Batarel?” Daniel said. “Do they know who they’re working for?”

Batarel walked to within a few inches of Daniel, and Daniel could smell a faint odor of cooked meat. Up close, he could see the burn scarring in more detail, and if he concentrated, could actually see it healing before his eyes.

“Of course they don’t, Cho,” Batarel whispered. “And they won’t believe you no matter what you tell them. But Assistant Director Gottlieb knows who I work for. He couldn’t wait to hand you over to me.

“And now,” Batarel said loud enough for the police to hear him, “you will be shot as the terrorist traitors you are.”

“There’s just one problem, Batarel,” Daniel said.

“And what’s that?”

“This!” Daniel said, as he dropped to a crouch and made as if to sweep Batarel’s knees. When the demon lunged to the side to avoid the attack—taking him right up against the catwalk railing—Daniel came up under the demon, grabbing him by his suit, and pitched him over the railing.

The demon screamed on the way down before pitching into what looked to Daniel like the fires of Hell. The screaming changed into a high keening sound as the clothes flash ignited and Daniel could see the flesh literally falling from Batarel’s bones. In seconds, it was over. There was nothing left.

“I wasn’t sure that would work,” Daniel whispered.

Jack put his gun down on the catwalk, and motioned for the rest of them to do the same. He turned to his boss.

“You sure you want to shoot us, Lou?”

Jack’s boss was still staring into the steel, like he couldn’t believe what had just happened. He apparently accepted immortal demons running Washington DC, but actually killing one, that gave him pause.

“Lou?” Jack said.

Jack’s boss cleared his throat. “Ar—Arrest them,” he said. “They’ll be remanded over to federal custody.”

The police moved in, and Daniel didn’t resist being handcuffed.

22: New Jersey Is The Bomb

Batarel stood on the balcony of a demon “common house” in Manhattan, listening to the sounds of the city. It was a upper west side penthouse that had been in the hands of their organization since the building commissioned. In fact, they owned the block, and several others nearby. Over the centuries, they’d managed to insinuate themselves into every aspect of human government and commerce. They exerted influence in thousands of subtle way every day, all to further the Mission. They helped facilitate gun running all over the world, but especially in Africa, southwest Asia and Central and South America. They were instrumental in development projects that siphoned water away from villages. They had the ear of nearly every nation in the UN building across town, and told them things about each other that made wars and invasions all but irresistible. Everywhere they went, discord, strife, war and death followed.

All according to plan.

It was for the humans own good, in the long run. It went back to the oldest human civilizations, agrarian populations just learning the arts of animal husbandry. In any population, you occasionally had to thin the herd, weed out the unfit. Omelets, eggs and all that.

And that was why Cho was not allowed to upset the plan. The Mission only worked because the humans thought it was their idea. They thought they were in control. This was an illusion that must never be dispelled. Of course, there had been thousands of such incidents throughout history. The secret was too big to think it would never get out. But every such incident was contained. In most cases, the unlucky humans simply disappeared. In a few cases, they’d been discredited first or driven mad. But in the end, no one seriously believed in demons. Even the Catholic priests were just going through the motions with their exorcisms, motions his people had taught them, to keep the humans scared.

This was dragging on too long, now. He had to end it. Twice he’d been distracted away from his prey by the more driving need to protect the secret. It wouldn’t do to kill Cho only to reveal himself to dozens more humans in the process. But now, with that woman Richardson and her posting video of their fights on the internet, the world was watching him. A world becoming increasingly inured to the fantastic, a world ready to believe. If the secret got out now, online, there would be no stopping it. No going back. Batarel had no idea what would become of the Mission then. The sacred trust his people had held for over ten millennia.

And where were the Others in all this? Where were the so-called angels, the traitors to the Mission? He’d been keeping an eye out for them as he’d followed the humans. He would recognize any of them instantly, just by their walk, or the shape of their heads. No matter how they tried to disguise themselves, a familiarity borne of thousands of years was immutable. He would have known. But he hadn’t seen any of them. He thought, given the high-profile media coverage, he would have seen at least a glimpse of one of their leaders: Gabriel, Uriel, Azriel, maybe even Michael. But nothing. Didn’t they have as much to lose as his people if the secret got out? Didn’t they need to conceal their true nature?

That worried Batarel more than the humans. If the Others weren’t trying on their own to protect the secret, why weren’t they? What was their game? Here in America, they could probably find ample gullible humans to step in line for them, eager to bend to their unquestioned authority. But surely they didn’t think that sort of thing would work globally? They didn’t think they’d find eager initiates in the middle of an African genocide, did they? Humans were weak, easily led, to be sure, but there were limits. Weren’t there?

“My master,” one of the slaves had stepped out onto the balcony with him. It was a testament to Batarel’s concern that he hadn’t heard the human open the door.

“You may speak,” Batarel said.

“We still have no evidence of the ones you seek, my master, but we do have something you might be able to use. If I may be so bold.”

Batarel turned to face him. He was blond, in reasonable health. He might survive the night. “And that would be?”

“We found a credit card charge for the FBI agent, Harris. He just ordered a pizza in Newark.”

#

“Oh my God this is so good,” Susan said as she bit into the pizza. Jack had ordered it on his credit card, figuring no one was watching that yet. It allowed them to conserve their dwindling cash and after eating nothing but hotel peanuts since the diner yesterday morning, she was eager to eat some real food.

“Okay, back to work,” Jack said. “We need to figure out how to lure Batarel into a trap. Susan, what have you found out?”

“We still don’t have much. Daniel was right about the address in DC. It was just a storage dump, basically. His real address was in Herndon. The only employment records I could find for him were as a consultant for a law firm in DC. Looks like they do mostly lobbying work, a lot of connections to K street.”

“Well, that fits,” Jeff said. “We know these guys are all about controlling human events. Makes sense they’d be friggin’ lobbyists.”

“Even though he was listed as a consultant there, he didn’t do much else that left a paper trail. I have no idea where his money came from. His birth certificate lists him as born in Syracuse, New York forty four years ago, and then he showed up in DC eleven years ago. No school transcripts, both parents listed on the birth certificate are dead—“

“How’d they die?” Jack asked.

Susan consulted her notes. “Car wreck, twenty two years ago.”

“Interesting. Any indication that they had kids?”

Susan dug deeper. “Here. An obit from forty two years ago. Their only son, Richard, died suddenly. Doesn’t say why.”

“I’m sure it was completely innocent,” Jack said. “But it does explain how the demons got a birth certificate with no person attached to it.”

“This is all fine and good,” Jeff said, “but it doesn’t tell us what we need to know. We know he was using a fake identity, drawing off the coffers of the demons, who probably have more money than the Pope at this point, and working as a lobbyist. But none of that tells us how to lure him into a trap.”

The hotel room door exploded into the room with a loud bang, nearly missing Jack. Susan looked to the doorway and saw Batarel standing there, wearing another Armani suit.

“I suppose,” Batarel said, “you could just invite me.”

#

Shit! Daniel thought. We’re not ready! He scrambled to pick up as much of the ordinance off the bed as he could.

“I don’t think so, Mister Cho,” the demon said, and flipped the bed with one hand. “No cheating.”

“Cheating?” Jeff said. Daniel had to hand it to the guy. He had more defiance than sense. “That’s all you demons do, right?”

The demon sighed. “You don’t expect this to be one of those tedious movie fights, do you? With all the snappy patter? I’m really just here to kill you, so if we could get on with that…”

Jack pulled out his sidearm and took aim, but the demon closed the distance between them. In the blink of an eye, he had his hand wrapped around the barrel of Jack’s gun.

“I don’t think you’ll be needing that,” Batarel said, and ripped the gun out of Jack’s hand before flinging Jack at Daniel.

Both men tumbled to the other side of the bed, and Daniel noticed Jeff was edging for the door. Susan had her camera out and was filming, her laptop stowed and slung over her shoulder. They were ready to run.

Now the Batarel was alone on the other side of the room, he turned to face them. “You might be tempted to run. You’ve run before. You’ve made things very difficult for me. So this time I came prepared. The moment any of you step through that doorway, my minions will cut you down with machine guns. Go ahead, look.”

Daniel pulled the drapes aside and scanned the parking lot. Sure enough, the lot was interspersed with black-clad figures holding rifles, all of them watching the door to the room.

“Why not just shoot us, then?” Jack asked, getting back to his feet.

Batarel smiled. “Because, Agent Harris, then I wouldn’t have any fun. You’ve all made life damnably frustrating for me, and I need to work that out. It’s unhealthy to keep that bottled up, you know.”

Susan began backing past the bed over to where Daniel and Jack stood. “Miss Richardson, I’ll thank you to stop there. You get to go first. Mostly so the men can watch me torture you, but you do get to leave early.”

“Fuck you,” Susan said.

“From a reporter I might have expected that,” Batarel said, “but I was under the assumption you were a good Christian woman. Such language!”

Daniel glanced back out the window, then down at his feet. There was a grenade right in front of him, where it had tumbled off the bed. How do you get a demon to sit on a bomb? He nudged Jack, eyed the grenade, and whispered, “Distract him.”

“Hey!” Jack said. “You don’t think I’m actually going to let you do that, do you?”

As Batarel waved the pistol, Daniel slumped, apparently in defeat. When he stood up, he had the grenade palmed and shifted it behind his back. “Be ready to break for the car,” he whispered to Jeff.

“Susan, get back here, now,” Daniel said.

“You’re just dragging this out,” Batarel said. “Now we can do this the hard way, or, no come to think of it, there’s just the hard way. Time to die.”

In one slick move, Jack pulled a smaller revolver out of an ankle holster and fired, hitting Batarel in the chest. As the demon swung the automatic at Jack, Daniel rushed him, and tackled him to the floor. “Get next to the door!” Daniel said.

Batarel pushed Daniel off of him. “What are you up to now?” he asked.

Daniel held up the pin from the grenade he’d shoved into Batarel’s waistband, watched the demon’s eyes widen, then leapt for the door.

#

Jack grabbed Daniel with one hand, Jeff and Susan in the other arm and flung all of them out the door and to the ground as the grenade went off, fire and smoke billowing from the door and now shattered window. As he and Daniel expected, the gunmen in the parking lot ducked for cover from the flying glass.

“Move!” he shouted. He got them all into a running crouch to the Crown Vic, and then opened the door for Jeff to get in as he fired off a shot at the nearest gunman. The man went down. Demons must not supply their minions with body armor, he thought.

He fired off two more shots from the cover of the vehicle, hitting one more gunman and making the rest duck for cover. In the fire-lit parking lot, they couldn’t see clearly which of them he was shooting at. The back passenger window shattered as the side of the car was raked with bullets, and then he fired his final shot from the five chamber revolver just as Jeff gunned the engine. He jumped into the car and slammed the door.

“Hit it!” he shouted. Jeff floored it and they peeled out of the parking space. As Jeff whipped the car around to the exit, Jack looked back to the hotel room and saw a charred figure standing in silhouette in the doorway. “Shit, even that didn’t kill him?” he said.

The other three looked back as Jeff accelerated, so no one saw the far gunman step out into the road and level his rifle at them. The man was too slow on the trigger, because he only got out one or two shots before Jeff slammed into him, bouncing him up and over the car.

“Oh my God!” Susan said, diving for the floorboards.

“Hang on, this is gonna be tight!” Jeff said as he whipped the car around the final turn and sped away from the hotel.