by J. R. Mabry
“I’m having my people go through the Magog Protocol with a fine-tooth comb now, tweaking it and updating.”
“We put that thing together five years ago. Might be wise to start from scratch,” Preston scowled.
“I thought of that, but all the key players are there. It just needs updating. The basic plan is the same. Besides, we’d lose time starting over. A lot of good work went into that, and 95 percent of it is still accurate. By the time I get the nod…if I get the nod…we’ll be able to start circulating it to the party chiefs.”
Preston laughed. “Ha! Won’t they be surprised!”
“They’ll be blown away by the detail. And the rationale is impeccable. We’ve got a small window of time to act. If they read it, they’ll see it—”
“And if they see it, they’ll act,” Preston finished.
“Exactly.” Ivory nodded in large, looping movements, indicating that he’d perhaps had one scotch too many.
A smashing sound obliterated Preston’s sacred silence. A rock landed on his desk, accompanied by a cascade of broken stained glass. Preston jerked back from the desk and held his arm up over his eyes to shield them.
“Holy shit, what was that?” Ivory barked.
“Get away from the windows,” Preston ordered him, and he sprang to one of the bookshelves for cover. He waited as Ivory rushed to one of the walls. When it was quiet again, he strained to listen. Outside, he heard the faint sound of…growling? It sounded human, but strange, as if someone were making a deep “grrrrrr” sound in his throat—or rather, a group of people were. It sounded vaguely like the buzzing of deep-throated bees.
“Stay there,” Preston ordered Ivory and ran from the room. He flew down the stairs to the basement, where the security monitors were. Blue light filled the room, and it hummed with the sound of hard drives recording the closed circuit feed. He blinked, not sure what he was seeing. Just outside the Dio House, a large crowd had gathered. But the people weren’t doing anything. Most of them were just standing there, arms hanging limply by their sides. One of them was shaking all over as if he was having an epileptic seizure but didn’t have the good sense to lie down.
“What in the world?” he breathed. It was the strangest sight Preston had ever seen. Then a man came forth from the crowd, striding with resolution. He was the only one who seemed to have any initiative. The man was tall and thin, looking vaguely bohemian in his attire. He was gesturing toward the Dio House—in fact, he seemed to be making a speech. Preston desperately wished he could hear what the man was saying. Whatever it was, it didn’t look good. Had he thrown the stone?
Preston didn’t have time to consider it because with a flourish from the bohemian man, the crowd surged forward as one. They rushed toward the back door, the one nearest Preston’s office, which was on the same level as the cathedral complex. He watched as they threw their bodies against the large wooden door. Even here in the basement, he heard the great groaning thud of it, and the sound sent shivers all the way to his rectum.
For the first time, he realized he was scared and not merely alarmed or curious. The crowd surged again, and again the door groaned. Preston had only one thought in his head: Get the Spear. It was the only thing that might save them. Any moment now, that door was going to give. Preston prayed he could make it back to his office before it shattered under the assault of the mob.
He launched himself up the stairs, taking them two at a time. The idea flashed through his mind that, in that moment, he did not feel like an old man. It felt good.
The door thudded again, its deep boom accompanied now by the high-pitched sound of splintering wood. Preston dashed past the besieged door and into his office, throwing his office door closed behind him and locking it. Of course, he knew that such a move wouldn’t deter them, but it would frustrate them for another few seconds—seconds he knew he might need.
“Did you call the police?” he barked at Ivory.
“No, I—”
“Well, call them, you idiot. We’re being attacked! What have you been doing up here?” It appeared that the intended candidate had simply been standing there shaking in his trousers.
“Who do you think it is?” Ivory asked, fumbling at his cell phone.
“I have no idea,” admitted the bishop, snatching his crozier from where it was leaning in the corner. “It’s San Francisco, so it could be militant homosexuals, it could be the local Democrats, it could be the Muslims—” although that was unlikely, he realized; the people he saw on the security monitors didn’t look Middle Eastern “—it could be the fucking Irish Republican Army. Who cares? The only thing that matters is that they’re about to come through that door, and we have no security detail.”
Ivory finished dialing just as the outer door gave way with an earth-shuddering crash. “Here they come!” Preston shouted, standing facing his office door with the crook of his crozier poised and ready. In a splintering shower of wood, metal, and sheetrock, the office door exploded inward.
80
WHEN KAT STEPPED BACK through the Void, she emerged into the comforting sound of prayer. Opening her eyes, she discovered herself still seated on her zafu—but instead of the bright, empty chapel in which she had first begun her journey, it was now filled with her order mates, and except for the golden glow of the candles, it was dark and peaceful.
Yet she did not feel at peace. She was in pain, and she realized that she needed to micturate like a racehorse. Wordlessly she slipped out of her seat and padded to the bathroom where she was able to relieve her screaming bladder. She sighed deeply as peace returned to her guts, and she returned to the prayer of her community a happier woman. This time, she sat next to Mikael, who greeted her with a raised eyebrow which she took to mean, Where the fuck have you been? She squeezed his hand in answer.
She found she had a lot to pray for: Randy, Charlie, Dylan, Richard, Doug, and the fate of the Muslim world—indeed, the whole world. All of these things would have overwhelmed her, but she was practicing what Terry had been teaching her. “It’s Jesus’s job to carry stuff,” he’d told her. “He can carry as much as you can let go of.” She remembered his lavender T-shirt that said Jesus is my Sherpa and smiled.
In her mind’s eye, she watched herself handing a huge bundle over to Jesus. She watched herself letting it go. As she did, she felt a wave of peace flow over her. She felt her muscles relax. She took a deep breath and let it out slowly. Holy crap, this stuff really works, she thought. Thank you, Jesus. Thank you for holding all my gnarly shit because it’s too much for me to carry.
Dylan’s lovely and tired voice intruded on her private prayer, but it was not unwelcome. Kat smiled, hoping he would be all right.
“Visit this place, O Lord, and drive far from it all snares of the Enemy,” Dylan prayed. “Let your holy angels dwell with us to preserve us in peace, and let your blessing be upon us always, through Jesus Christ our Lord.”
“Amen,” she said, along with Terry and Mikael. She saw that even Susan joined them tonight.
“May the almighty and merciful God—Father, Son, and Holy Spirit—bless us and keep us, now and forever. Amen,” Dylan finished.
“Amen,” they all said again, crossing themselves.
As everyone rose, they gathered around Kat in curiosity. Brian waved at her from the door of the kitchen. “Come make yourself a sandwich,” he said.
She nodded. “I’m famished.”
“Not so fast,” Mikael said. “We were worried about you. Where were you?”
Kat saw the same question on every face. “Uh…I went to see Prester John.”
Terry’s jaw dropped. Eyes widened all around. “How did you find him?” Terry asked.
“I went to the Abyss and asked Abaddon to take me to him,” Kat said.
Terry straightened. “Wow. That was easy. Why didn’t I think of that?” He looked concerned. “What did he say?”
Kat moved her head from side to side. “Eh…he was sad. He might have been angry, I guess, bu
t he seemed more depressed, really.”
“What did he look like?” Susan asked.
“Kind of like Terry,” Kat smiled. “Only twice as big.” She moved toward the kitchen. “I’m not sure what I expected him to do. Maybe I just thought he should know—about Preston, I mean. I’d want to know.”
She looked at the platter of cold cuts and began salivating. She grabbed a slice of wheat bread and started to spread mayonnaise on it. “How did it go at the Islamic Center?” she asked.
Mikael shrugged. “I think we helped some. It was hard. I wish there was something we could actually do.”
“I think we did a lot,” Brian said, putting on the kettle.
Putting the final touches on her sandwich, Kat motioned to Mikael with her head to join her in the office. Wordlessly they slipped into the other room. Kat was relieved that no one else seemed to notice since their lively conversation continued in the kitchen.
“What’s up?” Mikael whispered.
She grabbed the collar of his cassock and pulled him down until their lips met. Her tongue entered his mouth, and he reached around her and pulled her close to him. After a kiss that left them both breathless, she broke free of his mouth and panted. “I was hoping Nobzilla was on the rampage,” she said. “I know about a little patch of Tokyo that desperately needs stomping.”
A flash of lust came into his eyes, and he kissed her again. When they surfaced, Mikael looked sheepish. “I have to take a rain check on that particular apocalypse,” he said.
“Why?” Kat asked, smiling playfully. “All the kids love the monster.”
“The monster isn’t going anywhere,” Mikael assured her. “I just have…another engagement.” He told her briefly about what they had found at the house of the possessed person she and Susan had been visiting.
“That doesn’t sound good.” She looked horrified.
“Right. The roommate isn’t talking. To us, anyway.”
“But you’re thinking he might talk to…The Confessor?” Kat curled one side of her lip.
“It’s worth a try,” Mikael nodded.
“All right, man of mystery.” Kat kissed him again. “But you’ve been warned: Tokyo is going to need more than a simple stomping.”
“The monster is insatiable for destruction,” Mikael promised.
“He’d better be.” Kat let go of his collar. “Tokyo is built on a swamp.”
“I don’t think Tokyo is built on a swamp,” Mikael argued.
“Don’t you have someone to intimidate?” Kat asked. “Why are you still here?”
“I’m going, I’m going,” Mikael said, holding up his hands and moving from the room.
Glancing over at Susan’s big computer, Kat felt a stab of panic for her brother. She sat down in the big comfy office chair and opened a web browser. Logging into her own account, her eyes went wide when she saw a message from Randy. She read quickly, forgetting to breathe.
“Uh, guys!” she called.
Susan was the first one through the door, followed quickly by Dylan, Terry, and Brian. Crowding around the computer in the tiny room, they leaned in over her shoulder. “What’s up?” Susan asked in her ear.
She punched up the point size on Randy’s email and sat back so they could all see. “Preston and Ivory,” Terry read. “No surprise there.”
“What’s the Magog Protocol?” Kat asked.
“Gotta be a reference to the thirty-eighth and thirty-ninth chapters of Ezekiel,” Brian said.
“Or the twentieth chapter of the Book of Revelation,” Terry added.
Dylan nodded. “In both cases, they refer to an army risin’ up against God.”
“I’ll get on it,” Susan said, snagging her laptop from the shelf and firing it up.
“It’s a heathen army,” Brian reasoned, crossing his arms. “Like the way Prester John would have thought of the Moors.”
“He doesn’t think that now,” Kat asserted.
“Ah definitely want to hear more about that,” Dylan said.
Distantly, Kat heard the front door shut.
“Who is that?” Susan asked without looking up from her screen.
“Mikael,” Kat said. “He’s…checking something out. Wait, another message from Randy just came in,” Kat said, opening it.
Brian stood bolt upright as he scanned the page, and Kat covered her mouth with her hand. “Oh my God.”
“Read it to me,” commanded Susan, typing furiously. “And what is Mikael ‘checking out’? Intentional vagueness makes me nervous.”
Kat gathered herself and read. “Sis, send help. I can’t see what’s happening, but it sounds like there’s a huge mob outside. They’re trying to break down the door. Preston has whipped out the Spear. I think I did this. I’m so sorry. I didn’t know Larch would do it this way. Call police. Randy.”
“Oh, freaking shit,” Terry swore.
“I’m on it,” Brian said, whipping out his iPhone and dialing 911.
“Maybe we should just let whatever is happening happen,” Terry said. “I mean, maybe Larch is doing us a favor. Maybe he’s doing what we can’t do.”
“That’s a terrible thought,” Susan said, eyes still glued to her laptop.
“Yeah, but maybe he’ll do what needs to be done, and our hands will be clean,” Terry said. “It’s selfish, but that doesn’t mean it isn’t true.”
“Ah think yer forgettin’ two things,” Dylan said, straightening up. “First thing, Larch is attemptin’ to take that Spear by force. Ah think it’s Larch that needs the police, not the Bishop.”
“That’s right, Dyl,” Brian nodded. “What’s the second thing?”
“If he succeeds, the most powerful man on earth will be Stanis Larch.”
No one moved. Everyone just looked at Dylan, paralyzed by the very thought of it.
Even Susan looked up. “Oh my God,” she said. “That is exactly right.”
“Don’t get me wrong, Ah kind of like Larch,” Dylan said. “Ah mean, as a dinner guest, he’s kinda near the top of my list. He’s funny, he’s smart, he has very cool ideas.”
“But he’s one seriously misguided motherfucker,” Terry breathed.
“Word,” Dylan agreed.
“I’ve got something,” Susan said. Kat whirled around to face her, and everyone turned. “There’s an entry on the Dataleaks website on the Magog Protocol. It’s a PDF file, and it’s taking its time downloading. Which means it’s probably pretty big.”
“More information is good,” Brian noted.
“Okay, it’s done,” Susan said. She pursed her lips as her eyes flashed over her screen. “It looks like a study of a hypothetical military scenario.”
“What’s the scenario?” Terry asked, almost in a whisper.
For several minutes, Susan didn’t answer. Then her shoulders sagged. “It’s a projected strategy plan for a coordinated response…”
“Response to what?” Brian asked.
“An Iranian nuclear strike on Israel,” she said.
Terry whistled. “We’ve got to get that Spear,” he said. It was a fact. No one disputed it.
“Ideas on how to do that?” Susan asked.
“I got close to Preston once,” Terry said. “Maybe I can do it again.”
“And do what?” Dylan asked. “Are ya gonna say, ‘Hey, look at the squirrel,’ and snag it when he looks away?”
“It’s not the worst plan I’ve ever heard,” Terry said. “Given the right squirrel.”
“So, let’s break it down,” Susan said. “We need two things: proximity and the right squirrel.”
“Wait,” Kat said. “Just to clarify. We’re not talking about an actual squirrel, right?”
“No,” Terry reassured her. “We’re talking about a metaphorical squirrel.”
“Okay, just checking. You never know around here.”
“Point,” said Terry.
“I mean, Dylan might keep squirrels in his room, for all I know,” Kat explained.
“Th
et thar is an anti-hillbilly, bigoted statement,” Dylan pointed his finger at Kat, raising one bushy, menacing eyebrow.
“Calm down, Hatfield and McCoy,” Susan said. “We’re getting off topic. Proximity and squir—diversion. Chop chop.”
“Thet thar is an anti-Chinaman, bigoted statement.” Dylan pointed his finger at his wife. She scowled at him. He dropped his finger and sighed.
“How do we get Terry—or one of us—close enough to Bishop Preston to snag the Spear?” Brian asked.
“How can we snag it if he has it?” Kat asked. “I mean, there’s no crossing him as long as he’s holding it, right?”
“That’s just it,” Terry said, almost bouncing up and down. “It’s only effective if he’s holding it, and focusing it with intention. If he sets it down to piss for a second, and we snag it, then we’ve got it, and no one can cross us.”
“Except that we can’t use it,” Dylan pointed out.
“But nobody there knows that,” Terry said.
“You’re planning to bluff your way out of there?” Dylan said. He seemed surprised and a little pleased by the sheer audacity of it.
“Wait, where’s ‘there’?” asked Kat. “I’m confused.”
“Wherever it is we can get close to him,” Terry said. Susan was cruising various web pages rapidly. “He’s speaking at the Republican Convention tomorrow night,” she said. “He said he was going to nominate Ivory from the floor—that would be the next day. Tomorrow he’s going to make his case.”
“How do you know all that?” Dylan asked.
“Logic,” his wife winked. “You should try it sometime.”
“It’s one o’ the many things Ah’m allergic to,” he said, winking back.
“C’mon, guys,” Terry said. “Ideas. We need ideas. Brainstorm. No idea is too crazy right now.”
Just then they heard a succession of deep thuds. Kat jerked up. “What the fuck was that?”
