"Oh, now it's going to become tiresome," Wager said. He sighed in Cipher's ear. "Let them exhaust themselves."
All three women launched themselves at Cipher, punching and kicking. He didn't become intangible. Instead, he allowed the field to take every hit.
Soon, the women stood panting, sweating running down their faces.
"Tell them why you're here," Wager said.
"I'm here on behalf of Wager," Cipher said. "From this minute forward, you will give a tithe to Wager. Forty percent of your gross from legal and illegal activities. Your books will be open for our inspection at all times, and agents will be placed…"
Milo Face brought up a handgun and emptied it at Cipher's head.
Once the noise had ceased, Cipher continued. "Agents will be placed in all of your corporate holdings and they will be assimilated into your protection, arms, and drug operations. This will ensure that you are unable to follow your nature and attempt to renege on our deal. Respond."
The crimelord stared at Cipher with dark, beady eyes. He glanced to his companions. All three women shook their heads. They, at least, seemed to understand the futility of resistance.
"Show him why he must comply," Wager said. "No violence."
Cipher became intangible and walked through Milo Face. The man went into a hysterical fit.
Then Cipher became invisible, and whispered threats in the crimelord's ear. He spoke of things Milo Face was certain no one knew. He made it clear that the man would never feel safe, never know peace, unless he gave in to Wager's every demand.
Finally, he said the words that pained him. 'The boy in Texas. We know about him. What does his life mean to you? Would you like him to go through existence paralyzed? Or worse?"
Face was on his knees, in tears. On the verge of breaking.
"Very good," Wager whispered. "I had calculated a ninety-eight percent probability that this tack would be successful. Finish it."
Cipher hesitated. Then he said, "Or he could disappear. You would never know if he's alive or dead. You would never be able to find him, never help him."
Face broke into wracking sobs.
"Respond," Cipher commanded.
The crimelord crawled toward the bedroom. Cipher fully materialized and followed him. The man revealed a hidden safe behind the wall of a closet, opened it, and began to pile money and jewelry into a bag.
With trembling hands, he gave it to Cipher.
"Petey will be all right now, won't he?" the man asked. "Tell me. Please!"
"This is the beginning," Cipher said. "Only that. Respond."
The crimelord hung his head. "I understand. I understand. I… obey."
Cipher turned invisible and intangible, taking the bag with him. He was on the street soon after. In his ears, he heard Wager's laughter. In his mind, he heard a father's frightened sobs.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Sarah and Bobby had questioned everyone who had been taken from the Mary McCardle Shelter and experimented on—everyone except Mr. Joe.
They sat on the steps behind the shelter, Bobby staring at the graffiti covering the rear walls of the dilapidated office building just ahead. A wild dog, a Rottweiler, prowled around the garbage dump. He came dangerously close to a sleeping bag bearing an old woman known only as the Lady. She refused to ever enter the shelter, and always spoke to the volunteers as if they were the hired help at a posh restaurant.
The volunteers had often remarked that it was a miracle she had never frozen to death out there. But she had always been healthy.
Bobby noticed the animal and loosed a bolt of flames in its direction, searing the dumpster. It whined and ran off.
The Lady turned over in her sleeping bag, seemingly oblivious.
"It was simply hungry" Sarah said. "It would never have attacked her."
"Whatever," Bobby said. His knees were up by his chin.
"I have an understanding of the natural world. I know about these things."
"Fine."
They sat in silence. Finally, Sarah put her hand on
Bobby's arm. "This is about Mr. Joe, isn't it?"
He pulled away from her and stood up. Stretching, he looked away from her and didn't answer.
"We don't know that he was one of the people used in the testing," Sarah said. "He's probably at another shelter."
"I've phoned them."
"You what?"
"I called them. All of them. And visited every one of them within two miles of here. No one's seen him."
Sarah nodded. She had to hide her delight that Bobby had finally taken such an interest in the well-being of someone other than himself. "Maybe if we work together, we can find him. Jose mentioned something about him having a family somewhere. We can—"
A sudden scraping from off to her right made her stop. Sarah and Bobby turned to see the Lady approach. Her heavy boots scraped as she dragged her weak left leg behind her.
She was in her sixties, and wore sweaters layered five deep, discarded baggy running pants, and a pair of mittens with the tips of each index finger worn through. Her hair was white and frizzy, her cheeks rose red. Her eyes were dark, almost violet. And her lips were pulled back in a smile that might have revealed wisdom—or madness.
"You won't find Mr. Joe that way," the Lady said. "Why don't you ask your boss?"
Sarah frowned. How could this woman know about Mr. Lynch? And why would she think he had any idea where to find one homeless man in New York?
"You don't have to pretend with me," she said in a raspy voice. "I've seen. I know what you are."
Bobby looked at her sadly. "And what's that."
She leaned in close. Her breath stank. "Seraphim. Angels."
"Really," Sarah said, suddenly very uncomfortable. "We're not—"
"Fire comes from this one's hands," she said, pointing at Bobby. "Winds from yours. I've seen it."
Sarah and Bobby exchanged worried glances.
"Don't think I'd tell on you," the Lady said. "I know the difference between minions of the dark and the light. I've fallen victim to the dark angel Sabnack, who causes the bodies of mortals to decay. The only man I cared about was taken by Dantalian, who changes the thoughts of mortals from good to evil. And I've struggled with Zepar, the fallen seraph who brings women to the brink of madness and beyond." She hung her head. "And I've seen children sacrificed on these streets to Moloch, who revels in any mother's tears. He had mine, damn him."
Sarah tugged on a strand of her long hair, twisting it uncomfortably. "We're really not—"
The Lady's eyes gleamed as she looked up suddenly. "I've been chosen as messenger. As herald to those chosen to uphold the light!"
"What kind of message?" Bobby asked uncertainly.
"The family name is Monteleone. The man you seek is Joseph Monteleone." She fished in her pockets. "He was good and kind. He gave me this to watch over while he was gone."
She pulled out a crumpled newspaper clipping. It was a listing of Joseph's marriage to Margaret, fifteen years earlier.
"Mr. Joe looks so young, so healthy," Bobby said. He was amazed.
The Lady smiled. "The will of the light has been worked through me. I am truly and heartily blessed."
She turned and went back to her sleeping bag.
Sarah tapped Bobby's arm. "Come on. There's enough information here for us to get started with. The library's open until late."
"All right," he said, staring after the old woman. He shook his head. "Angels."
"It depends on how you look at things, I suppose," Sarah said. "Maybe in the right light, almost anyone can look like an angel."
* * *
Three full hours were taken up by the trip to the library, but by the time Sarah and Bobby left, they had the address of Margaret Monteleone's sister, Illiana Pruit. A cab took them to Long Island, and a small town called Massapequa.
"This here town's famous," the cab driver said. He was bald and pierced in every visible location. "This is the home of the Baldwins and the G
uttenbergs. You want the best pizza in the world, I'll take ya to Pappalardo's, they's gots signed pictures from Steve when he was doin' them Police Academy movies and all. Y'know, people forget he did some classy stuff, like Cocoon and The Day After. And that guy, y'know, the guy, from the movie, that Born on the Fourth of July guy, he was from here. I could take you by his old place. They didn't shoot the movie here, though, said it didn't look right no more, went to somewhere in Texas for Long Island, you believe that?"
Right now, that pizza sounded awfully good to Bobby. He had settled in the back with Sarah for the long drive, and had been able to tune out most of the driver's chatter. The presence of Sarah's hand, firmly held in his, her hair so close, her body…
It was a little like heaven.
Soon, the cab pulled up before a broken down two-story house. It was lime green with brown shutters, desperately in need of a paint job. There were two broken windows and the porch looked ready to collapse. They had traveled through several middle class neighborhoods to get here, but it was clear this little side street had seen better times.
"Wait for us," Sarah told the driver.
He giggled and looked at his meter. Bobby looked at the amount they had racked up and figured the return trip would pretty much make the driver's day.
"Heck, yeah!" the driver said. "And you folks, you take your time." He settled back and pulled a romance novel from beneath his copy of the New York Times. It was Tina Wainscott's Dreams of You.
As they approached the front door, a fifty-year-old woman in a red and white business suit came burst from the front door, a sign with a wooden stake attached to it in her hands. Bobby and Sarah had to leap back to avoid being impaled!
"Excuse me," Bobby said.
The woman screeched as she looked up finally and saw that she was not alone. Then she composed herself. "May I help you?"
Bobby took in the realty sign in her hands and felt his shoulders drop. "We were looking—"
"For a fixer-upper," Sarah interrupted. "We're getting married soon."
"Well, the place isn't really ready to be shown," the woman said. She fished a card out of her jacket pocket. Her picture was on it, along with her name, Rose McClendon. "But if you can come back in a week—"
Bobby looked around at the other houses on the block. Several had "For Sale" signs. "Are you handling all of these?"
She set the post down and looked at Bobby with greater interest. "All?"
Bobby wished out his wallet and took out one of the cards his father had given him. "We're representatives of Bryce Electronics. It's my father's company, actually. We're looking for a prime location to build a housing community for our top execs. Somewhere exciting and unusual. With character. History."
Rose flushed as she studied the uptown address on the card. "Really?"
Sarah looked at Bobby and crossed her arms over her chest. She looked impressed by Bobby's line. "Yes, really."
Bobby frowned, pulling slightly on his stubbly goatee. "Of course, what we'd need is to speak with someone who can supply us with information. The names and status of all the property holders from the street entrance to the cul-de-sac back there. Even the ones who've recently moved."
"Oh?" Rose asked nervously. "Why so?"
"We would like to know why they moved. Fear of crime, gangs, vandalism, perhaps…"
"No!" she said quickly. "Oh, no, nothing like that. Why, the family that was living here just came into an inheritance. The owner, Illiana Pruit, just bought a condo in Boca Raton, and her sister is living at the Regent Hotel in Manhattan. Her and her adorable children. I can get all that information together for you, there are no worries of the kind you mentioned, none, this area just needs a facelift, that's all. I can show you some of the other houses, if you'd like."
Bobby shook his head. "No, we've got your card. I just wanted to see the area for myself. I'll make a report and get back with you."
"Do!" Rose cried in a panic bordering on ecstasy. "Oh, please, do!"
When they returned to the cab, the driver was weeping openly, his tears staining the pages of his paperback. He reached for the meter. "Lemme just finish this chapter. I'll turn off the meter and everything."
Bobby sighed and nodded. Well, he'd shown some backbone and ingenuity today. No sense over-exerting himself.
Sarah leaned over and kissed his cheek, then nuzzled close.
This wasn't like heaven, it was heaven. No wonder Mr. Joe hadn't come back to the shelter. He was rich now!
The drive back seemed to take a third of the time they had spent getting to the island, even with traffic. Bobby and Sarah listened as the driver talked about the plot of his novel and how much he was hoping to go to the Romance Writers of America conference this year. He had two manuscripts to publishers and was keeping his fingers crossed.
"Sure, there's a cab driver in both of them," the guy said. "Publicity platform, that's what they call it in publishing. Hey, here's this cabbie writing about cabbies.
They can put me on Good Morning America, Howard Stern, whatever. The main thing is the message, y'know. Love is everything, and even better when you can share it."
"That one of yours?" Sarah asked.
"Naw!" the driver said. "That's Wainscott. But man, she sums it up."
Bobby leaned in and kissed Sarah. She kissed him back, softly, sensuously.
It sure was the message, Bobby thought. It sure was…
They got to the Regent Hotel and put the fare and the driver's tip on one of the five platinum Visas Bobby carried. The driver nearly cried again when he saw how generous Bobby had been.
Soon they were in the lobby of the posh hotel, ringing the Monteleones on the desk phone. Bobby gave his name to the woman who answered, and explained that he was a friend of her husband's.
The line went silent for an instant, then the woman gave him her suite number and told him to come up. She sounded worried and excited at the same time.
In the elevator, Bobby told Sarah about the exchange.
"Maybe she thinks you're disadvantaged, like her husband used to be," Sarah said. "From the street."
"I should have mentioned the shelter. Our work there."
Sarah grinned and kissed him again.
"What was that for?"
She hugged him. "Our work."
The elevator took them to nearly the top floor. The doors opened and Bobby led Sarah to the Monteleone's suite.
"I can't wait to see Mr. Joe again," Bobby said. "I bet he was planning on coming back to the shelter all cleaned up and—"
Before they reached the door, it opened and a small, anxious woman appeared. She wore a peach colored designer dress and her hair and makeup had been done by top professionals. Her jewelry glittered.
Her lovely brown eyes looked tired—yet lit with hope. "Have you seen my husband? Please tell me he's all right!"
With those words, Bobby felt the comfortable little world he had built up in his mind for his friend collapse in on itself. Whatever good fortune had recently come to the Monteleones, it had nothing to do with Mr. Joe. Nor had he benefited from it.
He explained the situation, leaving out the bits about the homeless being taken away for some kind of bizarre testing.
Margaret Monteleone's petite frame trembled, and she looked away, taking a moment to put herself back together before letting Bobby and Sarah in so they could talk some more. Her children were in the living room. A nine year-old boy sat before a Play Station, while his older sister paced back and forth with a cell phone in her hand. The boy wore commando camouflage pants, black boots, a black tee-shirt, and shades. His hair had been buzz cut. The teenager had a long and lithe body clad in tight jeans and a midriff baring white tank. Her blond hair spilled to the middle of her back.
"That's right, a dance academy, honest to God," the teenager said. "Can you believe this? It was some guy on my father's side who passed away. He left us—I don't know how much, but a lot. A real lot…"
The boy noticed Bobby
instantly. The teenager barely even looked his way.
"Hey, you wanna see my new game?" the boy asked. "I'm Joe Jr. My dad's a secret agent, like in this game. You wanna see? You wanna?"
Bobby smiled and let the little guy show him the game while Sarah and Margaret talked.
"My dad had to go on a secret mission," Joe Jr. said. "That's what he told me the night he went away. He's gonna come back, though."
"Yeah, he is," Bobby said. His determination to find his friend returned. "You bet he is."
By the time they had left the suite and were riding the elevator down, there was a fire in Bobby's eyes that had nothing to do with his incredible powers.
"We're gonna find him," Bobby promised. "I don't care what it takes."
Sarah was holding his hand. She brought it to his lips and kissed it. "I believe you."
He felt the warmth of her affection rush through him.
They held each other as the elevator raced ever downward, delivering two angels fallen from the perfect grace of their belief, but stronger than ever because they had taken the journey together.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Samuel Perrine lived in a high-walled estate on the Hudson River, about an hour north of the city. A wide driveway led up to the main house, which was built of red brick with what looked like freshly-painted white wooden trim. The expanse of lawn between the wall and the house was bright green, and looked recently mowed. The whole place was as neat and clean as an architectural magazine's spread—you'd never believe, Caitlin thought— that anyone lives here.
Well, maybe except for the three guards at the gate.
There was a wrought-iron gate, also painted white, spanning the driveway. Next to the gate stood a small guardhouse, a red brick structure with white-framed windows and an open door. Inside the guardhouse she could see two men in jeans and thick dark sweaters. They both carried automatic rifles.
A third guard stood just behind the gate, wearing a green parka and a Yankees cap. His rifle was held loosely in his hands, as if he wasn't expecting trouble from three kids. Caitlin had driven the rented car up here, had almost passed the house, then stopped, backed up, and turned straight into the driveway. The guard standing before them looked like he was just waiting to see what destination she'd ask directions to.
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