Between Heaven and Hell

by Jeff Kirvin

  “Thank you, and good night.”

  Crusade

  Daniel’s team caught a flight to Las Vegas the next morning. Once there, they boarded a helicopter and gave the pilot the directions to the site Uriel had designated as Hell.

  For Daniel, it was the culmination of a long, painful struggle. As the helicopter cruised fast and low over the hot desert sands, he reflected on all the events in his life that had led, almost inevitably it seemed, to this moment. He finally felt at peace with himself, as though this was his purpose, what he had been born to do. Though the path to this moment meant losing everything and everyone that had been dear to him, he believed he was near the fulfillment of his destiny.

  He looked back inside the cabin at the other members of his team. No one talked, and all but Jack busied themselves with last minute checks of their weapons and equipment. They were armed for bear, and while not as heavily armored as the angels, most of them felt they stood a pretty good chance of not only a successful mission, but surviving it as well.

  The only pessimist in the group was Paul, who had vehemently declared from the outset that it was an impossible suicide mission. Paul was under orders to keep his distracting opinions to himself.

  Daniel looked back outside and felt the hot wind on his face. Come what may, he was prepared to meet his fate.

  One member of the team had only given lip service to the idea of surviving their descent into Hell, but not because she thought it impossible.

  Lucy O’Malley was prepared for a different kind of destiny. Since the Revelation she had searched the world for Asbeel, the demon she blamed for the death of her brother, but she had never gotten so much as a trace of him. She knew no other DTF team had dispatched the demon, meaning he was still out there somewhere, and the most logical place for him to hide was Hell itself. Whatever the mission called for, Lucy was dedicated to a higher purpose. While inside Hell she would find Asbeel, and she’d have her vengeance.

  Outside the helicopter, the featureless desert sands sped by.

  Uriel stared out his Washington D.C. hotel room window at the streets below. Since the president’s martial law decree, the city, the nation, had ground almost to a halt, but now he saw clusters of humans walking the streets, most of them headed in the direction of the Mall. What was drawing them there?

  He heard a rattling at his doorknob. Housekeeping, he thought. “Occupied!” he called.

  The door was wrenched open, and three figures entered. He recognized them instantly, though he hadn’t seen them in a thousand years. “We know,” said the lead one, named Amezyarak. The other two, Nelchael and Harut, blocked the door after closing it.

  “Why have you come?” Uriel asked.

  “Because you’ve been a naughty boy, Uriel,” Amezyarak answered, walking closer. “You told the humans where to find us. Wouldn’t you say that kind of goes against the rules of engagement?”

  Uriel stepped away from the window to give himself more room to move. “The old rules no longer apply. If you doubt that, perhaps you should ask Beelzebub.”

  “Yes,” Amezyarak said, “we noticed that.” The other two demons began to close in, the three of them surrounding Uriel. “And if the old rules no longer apply, and there’s nothing barring direct combat between angels and demons…”

  Two hours later, amidst the confusion of the fire alarm, Amezyarak and Harut left the scorched and smoky hotel room.

  Daniel’s team landed not far from the rundown shack that concealed their destination. They quickly offloaded their equipment and moved in as the helicopter lifted off for its return to Vegas. Jack had recommended that the chopper would be safer in the air than waiting for them on the ground. They’d call it back when they needed it.

  “This can’t be it,” Paul observed.

  “I told you,” Daniel said, “this is just a front. It’s a converted missile silo. Underground. Come on.” Daniel led the team to the door of the shack. After verifying that the door was locked, Lucy set some plastique on the lock and they all took cover as it blew. The team very cautiously entered the shack, only to find it empty. The only thing it housed was what appeared to be an elevator. An electronic card key was lodged in the appropriate slot.

  “Here goes nothing,” Daniel said, then pushed the button on the elevator. The team found their weapons trained on nothing as the door opened.

  “This is too easy,” Jack said.

  “Maybe,” Daniel answered, “but we knew there was a chance they’d know we were coming. I think we all realize at this point that it’s a trap, but we came here with a job to do and we’re going to do it, whether they’re ready for us or not.”

  Without another word, Daniel stepped into the elevator. The team followed suit, and the five of them began their descent into the Underworld.

  Out of the Frying Pan…

  For the second time in less than a week, Timothy Phillips stood on the Washington Mall display stand and faced the Washington Monument. This time he hadn’t bothered with permits and authorizations, and he had surrounded himself with armed guards loyal to him and his cause. He couldn’t afford to be arrested now, not when he was so close to his goal.

  As he prepared to speak, he knew that operatives he’d placed months before were ready to splice footage of his speech into the broadcast media. His words would find their audience in spite of Thomas’ control of the media. The Mall had filled with more than a thousand people that had come to hear what he had to say. It was the biggest crowd he could get by word of mouth without tipping off the police, but it would look impressive enough for the cameras.

  Finally, John cued him, meaning everything was in place and it was time for him to speak.

  “I’d like to thank everyone for showing up today. I know many of you have risked great personal harm to assemble here, as is your right as Americans, in direct defiance of the police.

  “We stand at a great turning point for our nation. Our elected leader has been revealed as a fascist with demonic ties, the greatest threat mankind has ever known walks our streets with impunity, and a great many Americans huddle in their homes, afraid to venture out into the chaos beyond.

  “It’s not too late for change, my friends. It’s not too late to reclaim the country and liberties of our birth from the evil tyrants and immortal monsters that have stolen them from us. Not too late to seek a new dawn of safety, peace and freedom.”

  Phillips noticed that already the National Guard troops approached, armed with rubber bullets and tear gas. In ten minutes, his assembly would disappear. He allowed himself an inward smile. In five minutes, it wouldn’t matter.

  “What the hell’s going on?” Susan demanded. She’d been right in the middle of her newscast when the footage of Phillips’ speech cut in on her. The technicians were working furiously to restore control, but for the moment it seemed that they were providing coverage of Phillips’ speech whether they liked it or not.

  Phillips continued to address the crowd and cameras. “I’ve been a public servant most of my life. I grew up loving this country and the principles it was founded on. In the past few months I’ve seen the country I love brought to its knees, and those principles ignored and rejected.

  “It’s time to start over, America. It’s time for a New Order, a reaffirmation of the ideals of our founding fathers. No longer can we afford to let fascists and monsters hold sway over our way of life. We are Americans, born in freedom, guaranteed that freedom by the deaths of so many American heroes that came before us.

  “This country was born when a handful of common people raised their voices and their weapons in open revolt. Revolt against a ruler that didn’t listen or didn’t care about their needs, that used them for an agenda all his own. Now we face that situation again, but the tyrant isn’t the British king, but an American king we elected into power, little knowing who and what he was taking his orders from. And just like those heroes of two hundred years ago, we find that the only way to gain our freedom once more is to fi
ght for it.

  “I call today for nothing less than open rebellion. A revolution for a New America, based once again on life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness. This tyrant and his legion of demons can’t stand long against the combined will of 250 million Americans fighting for their freedom. Americans fought for their rights once! Now we must do it again! We will be free!”

  At that moment, right on cue, the National Guard began to dispel the crowd with tear gas and riot troops, as they were ordered under the terms of the martial law decree. As the cameras filmed on and the news networks helplessly transmitted the scene to the rest of the world, the government of the United States attacked its common citizens, lending weight to Phillips argument. In less than an hour, the seats of government around the country found themselves under attack by angry citizenry.

  The revolt had begun.

  The WNN technicians finally found the source of the feed splice and restored control over their broadcast. Ignoring the pre-broadcast chaos around her, Susan sat behind her anchor desk and furiously wrote her own copy, a scathing condemnation of what Phillips had done. She was interrupted by Richard, one of the stage managers.

  “Susan, you got a phone call.”

  “I’m a little busy, Rich,” she said without looking up.

  “Yeah, I know, but he said it was urgent, a matter of life or death. Said his name was Harold Preston.”

  Susan finally looked up. What could her old editor want with her now? “I’ll take it in my office,” she said as she got up and rushed off stage.

  “Line two!” Richard shouted after her.

  Susan reached her office and picked up the phone. “Harold?”

  “Susan, thank God I found you,” he said. “You need to get out of town immediately.”

  “What? In case you hadn’t noticed, it’s turning into a pretty busy news day. I have a broadcast to do.”

  “No you don’t, if you want to live. Susan, I just got a tip. Phillips is scared of you. He realizes that you are the most significant threat to his little coup going off. If you don’t get out of Washington right now, he’s going to have you killed, and make it look like the demons are responsible.”

  Susan sat down in her chair with a thud.

  “Susan?”

  “I’m here, Harold. Listen, are you sure?”

  “Get out. Now.” He hung up. That, or the line was cut. Susan couldn’t be sure anymore.

  She prepared to leave Washington while she still could. Before she left, she had a quick chat with her producer. They weren’t going to get her off the air without a fight.

  Betrayals

  Hell wasn’t quite what Daniel expected. No fire or brimstone, just a white, utilitarian sparseness and lots of metal. The elevator faced a long vertical shaft where Daniel presumed the missile used to be. He wondered why they kept it that way. Walking up to the metal railing, he looked down and saw more than twenty levels that appeared the same as the one he was on. Behind him and around the shaft were dozens of doors that most likely led to whatever Hell was built to house. In a place four times larger than the Pentagon, he had no idea where to even begin looking for Satan.

  Lucy didn’t share his indecision. As soon as they were all off the elevator, she took off at a run down the corridor. Jack moved to follow, but Daniel put his hand up. He could still see her as she ran around the open ring by the railing. Almost directly across from him, she shouted “Asbeel!” and took off down a side corridor.

  Oh, Hell, Daniel thought. You should have seen that coming a mile away. When are you going to start acting like a leader?

  “I really wish she hadn’t done that,” Paul said.

  “You and me, both, Paul,” Daniel answered, then turned to face what was left of his team. He found Paul’s grenade launcher pointed at his chest.

  “What the hell are you doing?” Daniel demanded.

  “My job,” Paul said. “And she just made it so much harder. And my name isn’t Paul. It’s Hakael. Of the Grigori.”

  Lucy ran aimlessly, searching every corridor. Much to her surprise, she found no demons at all, just one empty hallway after another. “Asbeel!” she yelled over and over. “Show yourself, coward!”

  “Ye don’t need to shout, lass,” called a voice she knew too well. “I’m right behind you.”

  Lucy whirled around and found herself face to face with the demon that haunted her dreams.

  “Asbeel’s the name,” he said with a smile. “And who might you be?”

  “The Grigori?” Daniel asked.

  “An elite group of demons answering only to Satan,” Hakael replied. “Before your interference, our purpose was to spy on other demons and report to Satan on who could be trusted. I used my cover as an FBI agent to watch Zagam during your little escapades.”

  “Which would explain why his files didn’t mention you,” Jack said.

  “Precisely. After Zagam’s death, Satan decided to have me keep my cover and try to join the DTF. My assignment was to act as a member of your team unless you actually made it to Hell. Then I was to stop you. As I’m doing now.”

  With no warning, Heinrich brought his grenade launcher up and fired at Hakael. The demon managed to dodge the direct impact, but the concussion in the enclosed space knocked them all off their feet.

  Daniel, it knocked over the railing.

  Daniel fell. He’d fallen past several levels already and was picking up speed. He couldn’t quite get a grip on another railing, and thought he’d rip his arms out of socket if he tried now. I didn’t expect to die like this, he thought.

  Then, suddenly, he wasn’t falling anymore. After he’d recovered from the sudden deceleration, he realized he hadn’t hit bottom; he’d been caught. He looked up at the face of the demon that had saved him. The demon was tall, with angular facial features and bright blue eyes. His black hair was swept back from his forehead, and his perfect teeth were bared in a charming smile.

  “Daniel Cho, I presume,” said the demon as he lowered Daniel carefully to the floor. “The infamous leader of the Demon Task Force. Pleased to meet you at last.”

  Daniel sat and stared, trying to catch his breath.

  “Ah, but you don’t know who I am,” the demon continued. “Please allow me to introduce myself. I’m a man of wealth and taste.”

  … And Into the Fire

  Washington D.C. burned, the flames rising high into the night.

  Three factions had been engaged in steady combat for hours: those in favor of Phillips’ call to revolt, those violently opposed, and the National Guard, who just wanted everybody else to go home. Many of the city’s landmarks and symbols of power were under attack, and bit by bit the National Guard was overwhelmed. At the eastern end of the Mall, the Capitol Building was under siege. Leading the assault was Timothy Phillips himself. He had “liberated” a tank through some Guardsmen sympathetic to his cause, and he was using it to lead the charge up the Capitol steps.

  “Freedom!” he cried as the driver guided the massive war machine up the marble steps and into the lobby of the building itself. The mob poured in after them, and began the violent task of dismantling the building from within.

  And Washington burned.

  President Walter Thomas honestly didn’t know what to do. He’d never imagined that out of all the possible crises he’d have to face during his presidency, the most trying would be the open revolt of his own people. Third World countries did it all the time, sure, but Americans weren’t supposed to do that sort of thing.

  At least, not anymore.

  “Mister President, we’ve got to go.”

  Thomas turned from watching the carnage through his Oval Office window and saw Pete Mitchell, the head of his Secret Service detail. The White House was in darkness, and he was supposed to have been evacuated quite a while before. He just couldn’t leave. “In a minute, Pete. In a minute.”

  He looked back out the window and watched the fires dance into the night. He was ashamed to admit, even to himself, t
hat he didn’t know what to do, that he wasn’t even sure how all this happened in the first place. It was all spinning out of control so quickly…

  Disgusted, with the riot or himself he couldn’t be sure, he turned away from the window. “Pete, let’s go.”

  Pete was no longer there.

  “Pete?” he called.

  “Gone, Mister President,” said a voice in the darkness.

  “Who’s there?”

  A lone figure stepped out of the shadows and approached him, a man Thomas had never seen before. “Who are you?” the president demanded.

  “A friend of a friend of a friend,” the man replied. “Quite a mess you’ve got here.”

  “I don’t know who you are, but—” Thomas reached for the phone.

  “I wouldn’t bother,” the man said, bringing his hand gently but firmly down on Thomas’s, pinning it to the receiver. “There’s nobody there.”

  For the first time, the gravity of his personal situation began to close in on Thomas past the haze of what had happened to his job. “Who are you?” he asked again.

  “An ally of your enemy, in a sense. For a few more minutes, anyway.”

  “What happens in a few more minutes?”

  “You won’t have any enemies.”

  Fighting off the cold tendrils of fear that had a death grip on his spine, the president hastily grabbed a letter opener off his desk and slashed out at the stranger. In the dim firelight seeping through his window, he saw the blood quickly disappear as the wound healed up.

  No one heard the President of the United States scream.

  Chaos reigned.

  Over the course of one night in Washington, the government of the United States fell to ruin. The president, vice president, most of the cabinet and congress were either dead or vanished. Most of the halls of power, the power which had ruled the planet for fifty years, had been destroyed. The chaos and destruction spread across the nation, aided by pictures in living color provided by the media. The United States found itself divided again, this time between people that wanted a Phillips’ New Order, and those that didn’t. Though it had taken civil war years to tear the country apart a century before, Americans at the end of the millennium were a much faster-paced bunch; what had taken years in the age before airplanes and electronic media could now be accomplished in a single night.