They drove the vans to an unused parking area behind some of the cottages, crawled into the back of their respective vans, and changed into formal wear.
Most of the guests had already arrived at Rosso’s estate, some by chopper, others in limousines and VIP vans and taxis. The first presentations were to begin within the hour.
When Gideon and Cyrus emerged from the vans, Gideon shook his head and said, “That trench coat of yours clashes.”
Cyrus shrugged. “If anyone asks, I’m a fashion designer. They can get away with anything. Besides,” he added, glancing skyward, “lucky us, it looks like rain.” He got back into his van and started the engine.
“What are you doing?”
“I’m moving the van to another spot.”
“Why? This is a good place, the one we agreed on.”
“A change of plans. Don’t worry. I’ll be right back.”
“I don’t like plan changes, even when the plan sucks.”
“It won’t affect anything,” Cyrus said.
Without waiting for a reply, he backed up and then rolled away.
Gideon delivered a frustrated kick to the van’s fender. “Son of a —. Worst mission ever!”
He shook his head, and then reentered his van to load up his person with firepower.
Cyrus drove around the back of the estate for a lay of the land. He noted the pumping station and garage with its vehicles requiring maintenance—SUVs, golf carts, and a helicopter—and then proceeded to the side of the retreat, past the swimming pool and tennis courts, and over to the botanical gardens and grassy common.
He parked next to a maintenance truck, stepped out, and gazed upon the open lawn. All he saw was a few gardeners attending to the meticulously sculptured bushes of Greek and Roman gods and goddesses that bordered the lawn, the tall pine trees behind them, and in the center of the field, a lone gazebo.
He peered into the gathering mist and wondered what a scene must be developing there, if only he had the eyes to see. It looked so calm and serene, but he knew that on the other side of the curtain, a momentous event was in progress; that soon, for better or for worse, neither Heaven nor the world would ever be the same. Oh, how he wished he could be there at the side of Volk and his comrades!
A perceptive glance at the location of the sun barely visible behind the thickening clouds told him he was already running late, and that if he didn’t hurry, he might be jeopardizing the entire mission.
He walked to the back of the van and opened the doors enough for a man his size to squeeze through. To ensure that a gust of wind didn’t shut the doors, he pulled forward a crate to keep the doors propped open. Behind the crate, inside a bag of soiled aprons and towels, he placed a homemade pipe bomb. Cyrus took a final look at the field, whispered a prayer, turned, and strode briskly back towards the main building.
Hamanaeus said, “I considered preparing a festive gala for us upon the signing of the accords, but on second thought I decided that it would be more appropriate to hold such a celebration up in Heaven where your cupids and celestials could share in the festivities.”
Minos nodded approvingly. “Very considerate of you, Judge Hamanaeus.”
Heaven’s newest judge smiled. “Shall we proceed to phase two, then? I trust your disgronifiers are warmed up and ready to begin transporting my teams?”
Minos gestured to Sett. “The commander is in charge of this phase of the protocols. Commander…?”
Sett stepped forward. “Your guys confiscated my communicator during the body search,” he said to Hamanaeus.
“Of course,” Hamanaeus said apologetically. He snapped his fingers. An Anteros soldier ran up and handed Sett back his transceiver.
Sett said, “If you want to listen in and be assured that each transport is proceeding as agreed upon, you’ll need Captain Volk’s as well.”
Hamanaeus snapped his fingers again. Another soldier hustled up and handed him Volk’s inter-dimensional communicator. Hamanaeus placed the tiny device around his ear. “Ready,” he said. “Now what?”
Sett didn’t answer. Instead he tapped his communicator and checked in with the disgronifier station. “Do you have our coordinates?” he asked. “Good. Hold on.” Sett turned to Hamanaeus. “You catch that?”
Hamanaeus nodded in confirmation.
“So, are these the guys you’re sending?” Sett asked, nodding towards the Anteros soldiers that surrounded them.
“No.” Hamanaeus pointed to our rear. “They are.”
We turned and saw the Anteros delegation marching towards us from behind in six columns, fifty goose-stepping men to a line. They were dressed in red military uniforms, but appeared unarmed. Flanking them were drummers, who, right on cue, began to bang their instruments.
We immediately recognized three of the six officers leading their columns: Captain Perseus, Lieutenant Jason, and Commando Ajax.
No matter how many times I gazed upon Ajax, I never got over his fearsome size and bearing. He was huge; a Goliath who towered over all the others, even Captain Perseus, who was no shrimp. Bravery personified, Ajax was eight feet of bulging muscle. His wild, shoulder-length black hair and thick black beard made him look all the more menacing. Tales abounded of how the daring warrior slew this or that fear demon with his bare hands. Beholding the size of the titan, the stories were easy to believe.
“What chutzpah,” Virgil said in thought mode. “They are flaunting their treason right in our faces.”
“That Ajax really is a giant,” I remarked. “How come he never rose above first lieutenant? Even Captain Perseus has nothing on the guy.”
“For a similar reason as Lieutenant Jason couldn’t.”
“He’s a lunatic?”
“No, but he’s not exactly the sharpest arrow in the quiver. He assumes that everyone is as recklessly brave as he is. His courage resembles that of a moth when it sees a flame, act first, think not at all.”
“Well, it looks like he got his promotion. Maybe that’s why he switched sides,” I speculated.
“From what I know of him,” Virgil said, “it is more likely the glory.”
“The glory?”
“He’s all about the glory, and there was none in serving Eros or the Academy. But Anteros offers plenty of it, false though it is. Storming Heaven, tearing down the old and replacing it with the new. Fundamental transformation. The heralding of a new dawn. He loves that crap. That’s what he talked about when I was in his training sessions. And he wasn’t too fond of me, either.”
“You? Everybody likes you, Virgil.”
“Well, something about me stuck in his craw. He enjoyed breaking cadets, working them into pulp until they cried uncle. Ajax never broke me. Remember those times I’d limp into our dorm bruised and battered?”
“Ajax?”
“Yep.”
“Why didn’t you go to Sett with it? He’d have put a stop to such bullying.”
“‘Cuz then Ajax would have thought he had broken me just the same, and I was too proud for that.”
“You’d think he’d have admired your grit,” I said.
“Not Ajax. He took it personally. The guy is a masochist.”
I glanced at our recruits. They were impressed, if not intimidated by the three hundred soldiers marching towards us. As the soldiers drew closer and our team got a better look at them, and especially the ferocious-looking Commando Ajax, Cadets Troy and Ares turned to Virgil and me with looks of concern, or maybe pity. They knew that Virgil and I having to go up against such a force by ourselves meant almost certain doom. I put on a brave, reassuring face. The cadets nodded encouragingly, and Cadet Troy furtively slid me a thumbs up.
Hamanaeus held up his hand, signaling the drummers to cease their banging, bringing the delegation to a halt right behind us. He looked to Sett for confirmation.
Sett spoke into his communicator. “Got a lock? … Okay. On my order…” He turned back to Hamanaeus. “We’re ready. We go fifty at a shot, one column at a time,
beginning with the one on the left, okay?”
Hamanaeus nodded.
“After they arrive safely at the disgronifying terminal and exit the pods, each column’s commander will report his team’s status. The station isn’t big enough to handle so many at once, so we will have to wait until your guys reassemble outside before transporting the next crew. As soon as each column’s commander reports back to you that everything is copacetic, we’ll fold up the next column.”
“Understood,” Hamanaeus said. “Please proceed.”
One by one, a whirling vortex opened up beside each Anteros soldier, and within a minute the first column was whisked away. Because of the protocols in place, it took thirty minutes before the entire delegation had disgronified.
Upon receiving confirmation that everything had gone smoothly, Hamanaeus smiled in satisfaction.
“Well done, Commander,” he said. “Now, as we wait for the next update, let us share in a toast.”
Hamanaeus clapped his hands, and passing through the ranks of the surrounding soldiers came a group of celestials carrying crystal glasses on silver trays, others holding bottles of champagne. They were dressed modestly in attractive, double-breasted red China dresses. Hamanaeus noted the surprise on our faces.
“Yes, we have celestials too,” he said. “They drifted into our ranks gradually over the years. By their own volition, of course. But fear not, gentlemen. As of today, we are all one big, happy family again.”
The judges grunted their accord, and it was all I could do not to roll my eyes.
Hamanaeus and Judge Minos both made short, platitudinous toasts, and along with the other judges and officials, clinked and sipped their champagne.
The rest of us weren’t offered any, which was just as well, as we wouldn’t have trusted that the champagne wasn’t tainted.
Hamanaeus tapped his earpiece. Another update was coming over the transom.
“Yes?” Hamanaeus said. “Excellent. May Anteros be with you. Over.” He looked up, smiled broadly, and addressed our entire contingent. “It’s done, gentlemen. The delegation has safely arrived and reassembled outside your disgronifying terminal. Your welcoming party is now escorting them to the Academy. They should arrive shortly, and then I will receive the final clearance that everything has gone as planned, as I trust it shall.”
Sett said, “Mind if I check in with my own people?”
Hamanaeus’s smile evaporated. “If you insist,” he muttered.
Sett tapped his transceiver. “Lieutenant Cronus, do you read me? … Who’s this? … Private Menoetius? Where the hell is Cronus? … Whattaya mean he’s not there? … No, I didn’t give him permission to join the retinue. … All right, when he gets to the Academy, you tell him I want him to contact me pronto. Over.”
“Is everything okay?” Judge Busiris asked. He wiped at a fat raindrop that plopped onto the end of his nose.
“Lieutenant Cronus left his station,” Sett said, peeved. “He’s in charge over there and ought to know better.”
“Cronus,” Virgil said. “That’s who Menoetius was threatening to kill.”
“Yeah,” I acknowledged.
“I think he carried out his threat. We need to inform Captain Volk.”
Volk spoke up, “I hear you. Get ready…”
“Well,” Minos said, straining to sound reasonable, “it is a momentous occasion after all. It’s understandable that he’d want to witness the ceremony for himself.”
“It’s unsoldierly, and moreover, unlike him,” Sett grumbled.
Hamanaeus weighed in. “Judge Minos is right. As long as everything is going smoothly, we can overlook the Lieutenant’s enthusiasm.”
“Your honor,” Sett said, addressing Minos. “I move that we be allowed to immediately send two of our contingent here for a firsthand account.”
Judge Minos turned questioningly to Hamanaeus, who met the judge’s appeal with icy, obdurate silence. The cupid overlord recognized the intransigency in Hamanaeus’s eyes, and cleared his throat.
Minos was a beaten man. It was hard to believe that this was the same indomitable leader who had defeated the powerful Judge Laban, subdued the many quarreling factions after the Civil War into one cohesive unit, and emerged the undisputed leader of our sector of Heaven.
“That will not be necessary, Commander,” Minos replied. “It is not part of the agreed upon procedure. Besides, in just a few more minutes we will receive final confirmation that the migration and assimilation has been completed.”
Hamanaeus rewarded the judge with an approving smile and slight, patronizing bow of his head.
Captain Volk said in thought mode, “Kohai, Virgil, gird up thy loins. Ready when you are.”
“Yes, Sir,” we replied. “May HaShem look after you, Captain.”
“And you,” he rejoined. “Over.”
Virgil and I exchanged resolute looks.
“Girddy up, Virge.”
19
Heaven’s Hell
“Hera,” Grace said. “Do you read me?”
Hera stood at the edge of a throng of celestials and cupid soldiers outside the disgronifying station. Only half of them were dressed in their ceremonial uniforms, indicating that those who were not in formal wear were quite likely Anteros agents, just as Grace had planned.
Hera tapped the communicator hidden under her hair. It was fixed to an encrypted channel that she and Grace had set up beforehand.
“I read you,” Hera said, “but it’s pretty noisy here.”
Grace, who was at the Academy, could hear the drums and horns and shouts of celebration in the background of Hera’s broadcast. “What do you see?” she asked.
“Anteros soldiers have been filing out of the terminal and lining up on the grounds outside. So far I’ve counted five platoons that have emerged.”
“The accord’s protocols call for a delegation of three hundred Anteros soldiers, fifty at a time. The last group should be joining them any minute.”
Just then a commotion broke out around the entrance to the disgronifying terminal. A number of cupids dashed into the station, and Hera heard the distinctive sound of splicer rifles and demon dusters.
“Madam Grace!” Hera exclaimed. “I’m hearing gunshots and our own cupids are turning on each other!”
“It’s begun, Hera. Run! Run now!”
Hera took off into the surrounding woods. She knew it wouldn’t be safe on the main road, and so had to try and get to the Academy campus by an elongated loop, entering through the opposite side, if she could make it.
“Madam,” she cried, glancing over her shoulder as she ran, gunshots and shrieks punctuating the air, “our soldiers are being butchered! It’s a slaughter!”
“Just run, Hera! You know where I am. Get here as fast as you can. Keep alert. Don’t stop for anyone. Don’t trust anyone! You hear me?”
“Yes, Madam,” she puffed, loping through the woods like a deer.
The last column folded up and transported was the one led by Commando Ajax. The chief in charge of the disgronifying terminal, First Lieutenant Cronus, greeted him upon his arrival. Cronus opened the disgronifier pod and saluted the giant.
“Welcome to Heaven,” Cronus said with a good-natured smile.
Ajax smirked. “No, Lieutenant,” he said. “Welcome to hell.”
“Sir…?”
Cronus’s eyes bugged in mystification, and then he crumpled to the ground, a hole through his head. Replacing the space the lieutenant had been occupying now stood a grinning Private Menoetius, a smoking demon duster in his hand.
Another cupid soldier, Corporal Sparta, carrying two pulsar rifles ran up. He tossed one of the rifles to Commando Ajax, who caught and charged it.
As planned beforehand, Ajax shouted, “Down!” The forty-nine other Anteros commandos who arrived with him hit the floor, leaving standing a dozen nonplussed and unarmed cupid soldiers who were manning the pods.
Ajax, Menoetius, and Sparta leveled their weapons at the st
upefied cupid soldiers, and in quick succession, blasted them dead.
The shrieks of the defenseless cupids could not be heard outside the thick glass surrounding the pod terminal, but the two cupid technicians monitoring the pod room from their booth outside witnessed in horror the massacre through the blood-splattered glass. Before they could warn anyone, however, two of their fellow cupids snuck up on them from behind and expertly slid their demon daggers across their throats.
The pod room secured, Ajax led his platoon bursting through the doors into the outer room where six cupid turncoats were waiting for them, duffel bags of previously stashed weapons at their feet. As Ajax’s men rushed past, the cupid rebels slapped splicer rifles and demon dusters into their hands. Within a minute the entire disgronifying station was under Anteros control. The few scattered groans of the fallen cupid soldiers were squelched one by one with a shot to the head, giving way to a deathly silence.
Outside, a number of cupid soldiers standing near the entrance to the station heard the screams and gunfire. They rushed in, only to be cut down by the Anteros commandos headed their way.
This cued the cupid rebels who were participating in the welcoming party, most of whom were those cupid soldiers not in their ceremonial uniforms. They had situated themselves within the crowd so that they could immediately pounce upon their fellow, unarmed and unsuspecting cupids, literally and figuratively stabbing them in their backs. Innocent celestials who had joined in the festivities were not spared, and mercilessly suffered the same fate.
As the cupid soldiers and celestials dropped dead to the ground—few of whom had the chance to put up any fight at all—another squad of rebels bolted from the edge of the nearby woods, carrying more duffel bags of cached weapons. They immediately began to arm the platoons of Anteros soldiers.
Commandos Deimos and Styx, who had given the signal to begin the massacre, ran up to Captain Perseus and saluted. Deimos wiped the blood from his demon dagger onto his pants leg and holstered it.
Shooting Eros - The Emuna Chronicles: Complete Boxset: Books 1 - 3 Page 73
