by S. L. Duncan
Even after six months in Vatican City, Gabe had never really spoken with Borelli. The man had been an ally in their progression as much as he had been a roadblock. Everything he did seemed to be carefully measured and weighed, as if he were plotting a move on a chessboard.
Typical politician.
There was much to talk about. That was certain. The bomb. Nicaea. But Gabe was saving it until the rest of the party had arrived. Borelli seemed to be doing the same. Gabe wondered if the Italian knew anything about Gabe and Micah’s stay on the planet being temporary.
It wouldn’t be in his interest to tell me if he did, Gabe thought. The list of people he could trust seemed to be dwindling by the minute.
Finally, after nearly half an hour, Micah, Joseph, and Afarôt entered the compartment, led by Admiral Keats and a man with even more medals on his jacket than the admiral had.
“Welcome aboard, gentlemen. Ma’am,” Admiral Keats began, nodding to Micah. “Please, make yourselves comfortable. Can I have my yeoman get anyone anything to drink or eat?”
“No, thank you,” said Micah.
Everyone else politely declined. Keats waved off a young seaman standing in the doorway to the room. The door shut firmly behind him.
“This is Commander Richards of the Pacific Fleet,” Keats said as the Man with Every Medal took off his hat.
“Thank you, Admiral. And let me formally thank the Marines for providing the meeting place. I must say, in all my years of service, this has to be the strangest request that has ever been made of our Navy. In fact, I might have considered it a hoax had the president himself not directly passed the orders to me. However, even his orders left something to be desired for the specifics of this operation. Believe me when I tell you, I am most interested in uncovering exactly what this is about.”
He seemed somehow less military than Keats. The man smiled as he spoke but in a dangerous way, with a demeanor that was more careful and prodding, like Borelli’s.
Another politician.
“I’ve been talking with Mr. Afarôt here about why exactly we needed to pull a few ships’ worth of Marines off shore leave in Ibiza, but he insisted we wait until you arrived before explaining anything further. So this had better be something. Because them boys and girls love those Spanish beaches.” The smile drifted from the commander’s face.
“Rest assured, lady and gentlemen, the United States does not take lightly the expenditure of its military budget on the whim of the pope, no matter how long this specific agreement has stood in place. Now, will somebody tell me what the hell is so important to require an escort big enough to topple a third-world country, just to sail to goddamned Turkey? I’ve half a mind to ask Admiral Keats here to turn this ship around and drop you off on Sardinia.”
“Commander, first of all, thank you for your assistance. I can assure you, your help is not given in vain,” Gabe’s father said.
“Let’s get this clear: you are here at the whim of the United States government. We are entertaining your presence for two reasons only. Number one, my commander in chief wishes to maintain a favorable relationship with the pope and thus has agreed to indulge your request. Number two, you cited in your communiqué a treaty signed by the founding fathers of the United States of America. A treaty not on the books. My mission is one of a fact-finding nature. If I smell bullshit, rest assured I will lock you in the brig and throw away the key.”
“Completely understood, sir. You are probably aware of the religious unrest in Egypt and Ethiopia.”
The commander shrugged. “When is there not unrest in Egypt and Ethiopia? But I have reports of recent events. A bunch of speculation by religious crazies, if you ask me. Ain’t nothing I ever read in my Bible. I also just received intelligence on the terrorist attack by a Christian extremist group over an hour ago at the gates of your city. That’s one of about a hundred various nut-job groups that blow something up every day in this world. So what of it?”
“I won’t waste your time, Commander,” Gabe’s father said.
“I’ve got a feeling you already are.”
“We requested your escort because the second war between the planes of existence, realms you would know as Heaven and Hell, has broken out here on Earth. Essentially, sir, all occupy the same space, only in different dimensions, and now Hell and mankind are competing for supremacy over it. These three young adults are actually archangels born as humans to assist mankind in this plight. Well, two of them were born, at least. I mean, they all are archangels, just . . .”
“Admiral, have your MPs place these people under immediate arrest. Call the State Department and tell them to halt the envoy to Iznik, and for God’s sake, turn this damned ship around,” Commander Richards said and made for the door.
“Wait,” Gabe said. “We can prove it.”
“Son, unless you got wings and feathers under that getup of yours, it ain’t gonna help.”
A static charge filled the room. The air suddenly became crisp. Sharp. Energy seemed to eat away at the oxygen. The temperature rose quickly. Commander Richards and Admiral Keats stopped in their tracks. Their medals fluttered on their chests.
“What the hell is going on?” Keats asked.
“Sir, everything you just heard is true,” Micah said. “I know it sounds, like, unbelievable, but it is happening.”
Gabe lifted his hands. Energy, glowing like blue flame, burned into the air from his palms. The lights in the cabin blinked. “We are archangels, Commander.”
Afarôt and Micah followed Gabe’s demonstration. The light from their power covered everything in a blue hue.
“Please help us,” Gabe’s father said. “Our enemy is your enemy. And they are gaining strength as we speak. If we don’t have the support of the United States and the other nations, all will be lost. This is your war, sir, as much as it is ours.”
Commander Richards became still, squinting, as if he were trying to work out this sleight of hand. All at once, he seemed to accept what he was seeing and turned to Admiral Keats. “Belay those orders, Admiral,” he quietly said, his voice breaking. “And get this ship up to full as fast as you can. We’re going to Turkey, by God.”
CHAPTER NINETEEN
If Gabe’s apartment in Vatican City represented style and comfort over function, his living quarters on the aircraft carrier were the complete opposite. Gabe was, however, thankful to at least have his own room. There was just about enough space for him and his backpack, yet the small room was meant for two. He couldn’t imagine having to manage the space with another person.
The soft, dull hum of the boat’s engines had faded into the ambiance of the metal compartment as the USS America steamed full speed into the Mediterranean Sea.
Gabe was left with only the vague sense of motion as he lay back on the cot. No rocking or undulation as there had been on the trip up the Nile on the riverboat. Occasionally, he thought he heard a helicopter take off or return from a patrol sortie. A sinking feeling washed over him.
Someone knocked at the door, and he opened his eyes, suddenly aware of the weariness in his muscles and bones, not helped by the constant fever.
“It’s me,” Micah whispered from behind the thin metal.
He rolled out of the bunk and stood on unsteady feet to open the door. She slipped in quickly, as if she were trying to avoid being seen.
“What are you doing?” he asked.
“I couldn’t sleep,” she whispered.
He held open the door. “Well, I’m fully capable of sleeping, so . . .”
She pushed him out of the way, checked the hallway once again, and shut the door.
Gabe groaned. “I feel like mush. Why do you torture me?”
“Because I can, and because you love it.”
He curled his lip and lay back down on the cot.
“Come on, let’s go check out the ship. I need some fresh air. And you do, too.”
“What, so I can get away from the prospect of having this stupid thing kill me?�
� He held up the ring, smiling.
“Well . . . yes. That is, more or less, exactly the reason.”
“This is a military carrier, Micah. Not a cruise ship. Where in the world could we possibly go? I may be wrong, but I don’t think there’s a social deck on board.”
“Honestly, you can be such a wimp sometimes,” she teased. “It’s not like they would throw us in the brig or something.”
He cringed. “I forgot there’s a brig.”
“For the love, would you come on?” She grabbed him by the arm, lifting him from the bed.
“And what do you mean, I can be such a wimp sometimes?” He mumbled something about killing a demon but lost the will to protest. Micah’s grip slipped to his hand as she pulled him from his room.
The hall looked empty.
“Be quiet. Follow me.” She led him through the hallways until they found a set of stairs.
A Marine grabbed the rails and slid down, his feet barely touching the actual steps. Gabe thought they were already busted until the Marine opened a door and disappeared through it, never noticing them.
Up the stairs, a door led to another deck, this one with windows to the outside.
“It was over here, I think,” Micah said.
Another Marine nearly ran into them, coming around a corner. “You two lost? I don’t think either of you should be up here.”
Micah batted her eyelashes and put on her best girly performance. “Oh, come on. We just wanted to get some air. Those rooms are so stuffy. I honestly don’t see how they fit all you sailors inside.”
Micah’s purring charm sounded so awkward and wrong coming from her that Gabe resisted the urge to retch. He nearly doubled over when he saw the Marine begin to breathe quicker.
“Well . . . I guess it’s okay. There’s an observation deck just up those stairs over there,” the Marine said, pointing to the far end of the deck. “If you see any inbound flights, go inside. Landings can be dicey sometimes. Definitely don’t go as high as the flight deck. It’s very dangerous up there. Promise?”
“I promise,” Micah squeaked and grabbed Gabe’s hand to pull him toward the stairs.
“I can’t believe that actually worked. He blushed. Like, his cheeks actually turned red. Did you see that?” Gabe asked in a hushed voice.
“Don’t act so surprised. I can be charming.”
“Manipulative, more like. You’re getting good at that . . . whatever it is you do. But you could not look more uncomfortable doing that cheerleader bit.”
She punched him in the shoulder. “I could be a cheerleader. A good one, too.”
The door led to the back of the ship. It took some doing to close it in the steady wind, but the cool air came as a relief from the cold sweat that covered his brow. Looming above them, a white-domed radar thing and a huge spinning gun sat silent just below the flight deck.
A swath of white water trailed into the night’s horizon from the ship’s wake.
“What a view,” Micah said, inhaling deeply and leaning over the rail. Her long black hair played in the wind.
“Careful. That’s a long way down,” he said, looking at the churning water below.
A few moments passed in awkward silence. Micah stared out into the dusk, watching the sun go down behind the huge carrier.
“How are you?” she asked. Her eyes studied him, looking for signs of the ring’s effects. “I’m worried about you.”
“I’m fine, Micah.”
“You’re not fine. Anything but fine.”
The brilliant orange-red glow of the horizon reminded Gabe of his visions of New York burning as the world ended. He wondered if he would always feel that way about sunsets.
“When you saved us in Axum—I mean after . . .” Micah said, her eyes searching the ocean. “There was this moment. I could see it in your eyes.”
Gabe looked at her. The sun’s fading light was turning purple and catching her hair, each strand glowing and dancing around her face. He found himself unable to talk.
“And inside, I felt it too. It’s this thing that’s been between us, invisible but always there,” she said. She turned to him and pulled hair away from her face. “Something we both want.”
Gabe’s heart leapt at her admission.
“But I don’t know what there is for us in the future,” she said. “Maybe we don’t need to know. Maybe we have to live for the moment now. Who knows how long we might have?”
A soft smile had grown across her face.
“Carlyle used to tell me of his plans for his life,” she said. “The one he wanted, should the End of Days not come and splinter our lives. He left a lot of unfulfilled dreams on the table, and now . . .”
“He was a brave man, Micah.” He felt stupid saying it. Of course she knows he was brave—he sacrificed himself for her.
“I know.” Her eyes looked sad, even as her smile broadened. “He fulfilled his duty, which made him happy above all other things.” She waved off Carlyle’s memory. “What do you want out of life, Gabe? What are the things you don’t want to leave on the table?”
“I don’t know. It used to be the simple things. University. I would have liked to be an attorney or in some sort of business. Stocks, maybe. Something far removed from the life we’re living right now. Now all I want is to feel better.”
“But what do you want that you can have right now?” Micah asked, taking a step closer.
Gabe’s heart sped up as if someone had injected him with adrenaline. “What do you mean?”
“Stupid boy,” she said and kissed him.
He could hardly get his bearings on what was happening. She is kissing me. It was unlike the kiss she had given him in England. This was more intense, more aggressive, without thought of consequence or the future. She held her body to him and wrapped her arms around him, running her fingers over the birthmark on his shaved head. All of his senses were fully aware of the warmth and softness of her curves.
Her energy fed off his, and his off hers. His clothes felt like they were charged. The illness seemed to flow from his body, abandoning him to the pleasure of the girl.
She bit at his lip, touching her tongue to his, and he responded. He felt the athletic lines of her back, the small of her waist.
Something beneath the white dome weapon system sparked and shorted out, showering sparks onto the small deck. But he didn’t care. Nothing else mattered but her.
The moment could have lasted forever, as far as he was concerned. Every worry and fear he felt for the world around him seemed to disappear in it.
Finally, she pulled away and looked deep in his eyes.
“This moment. This was ours. No matter what we owe the world. What we are or what we can’t be in the future doesn’t matter as long as we had this.” Her eyes glistened in the last of the light. “Do you understand?”
His mind recognized and processed the words but tripped on the fact that they were in past tense.
Micah took a step back, retreating to the rail while patting his chest.
He felt as though she was pushing him away, and Gabe suddenly became aware of the fragility and complexity of her feelings for him. Micah reached for the door.
“Come on,” she said. “You need to rest.”
And like that, it was over.
CHAPTER TWENTY
Compared to Istanbul, the ancient city of Bergama was small. For Lilith, this made securing its perimeter and enacting martial law that much easier.
The weak and the poor make for an easy flock to herd, she thought.
The sun had set, leaving the Pergamon Ruins on the outside of the city under the cover of night. A mist had rolled in, carried by moisture from the sea to the west, and settled on the hills. In the valley below, the lights of the city shimmered in the remaining heat of the day. She thought of all the families living in peace. All the children of proud parents, their happiness built upon the ruin of her life. She pitied them, but she did not feel regret. They were trespassers. Generation aft
er generation born from the injustice reaped upon her love.
A world given to ignorance. She looked at the ruins, where the altar had once stood, broken and crumbled from the majesty it once held. A deep sadness welled inside her, but she pushed it aside and remembered what she had lost.
The love of my children. The love of my husband.
Behind her, the escort that had brought her to this place waited for her, far from view. She had willed them to stay with the helicopter and to forget anything they might witness on the small hill.
Here, Lilith did not wish an audience.
Many of the men expressed concerns and questions about why they were in Bergama. The town was insignificant. It was nothing more than a village to anyone other than the occasional archeologist who would come to study the ruins.
Lilith, however, could be very convincing. She relished exploiting one of mankind’s greatest flaws. Of all his weaknesses, man was most susceptible to the charms of beauty. Her soldiers, carefully selected from a legion, were very much subject to her whims and influence. Even without her ability to manipulate the senses of man, she was able to have them accomplish whatever task she asked of them.
So simple, the human mind.
Over the past several hundred years, many historians and scientist had journeyed to Bergama to mine the city, known in ancient times as the city of Pergamon, for artifacts and treasures to take back to their western countries as trophies. The Germans’ theft of the Altar of Zeus at the turn of the twentieth century left her concerned that another, much more valuable treasure would be missing from its resting place amongst the ruins.
Her fears, however, were alleviated instantly when she arrived. The treasure she sought still lay here, deep in its tomb, its energy soaking through the ground on which she walked. She could smell it lofting in the air. It called to her. Begging her for release.
Exactly what I intend to do.
The landscape of the ruins had changed so much from her memory of the region. She recalled her life so long ago, the lush greenery, balance of nature and man. Gone, she thought. Time and societies come and gone had done their share to desecrate the site. Scattered all over the site were rock piles and man-made columns from cultures that had followed, reduced to rubble and disregarded as unimportant.
