“You… You are. Whom do I have the honor of addressing?”
“My name is unimportant. Did you report that you have in custody someone named Mancuso?”
“Uh, yes, yes, I do. At least, that’s what he said his name was.”
“I have new instructions for you. Are you familiar with the Angel Flight?”
Nicodemus had never seen the winged arm of the Church in person, but he’d heard about them. “I am… Brother?” He wasn’t sure how to address the man on the other end, but he figured everyone was a brother of some sort in the Church, so it couldn’t hurt.
“You will receive contact from the Angel Flight within the hour. You will follow their directions as though they were orders from the archbishop himself. Do you understand?”
“I do, Brother.”
“Do not fail, Nicodemus.” The line went dead, and he handed the device back to his assistant. He was proud that his hand only shook a little.
A short time later, Nicodemus looked up at the strange, loud sound overhead. Through the smoke and haze of the battle, he saw a type of flying craft he’d never before seen set down in a clearing nearby. It looked like a big dragonfly of some sort, with whirling blades above it and a long tail. He’d received instructions on how to prepare the landing zone, so he wasn’t entirely surprised, but it wasn’t every day that you saw the fabled Angel Flight. He whispered a quick prayer to bless them for their service, as was ordained by the Church.
He was only mildly curious at the other two that hovered nearby in the sky, protecting their brother. Curiosity was not a trait that was encouraged in the Church, and so he let the question in his mind drift away.
The brothers in the flying craft directed him to transport the prisoner into the belly of the landed beast, and the men inside strapped the man into a seat as they lifted off. Nicodemus again raised a hand in prayer for the safe flight of the blessed Angels. He turned to pray over the other hovering Angels as well.
It was then that he noticed the curious flames coming from their sides and the explosions of dirt that flew toward him. His final thought as they flew over his believers was to wonder how he had angered his God and his church enough to warrant his forces’ destruction by the Angels.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Headquarters
First Church of the Divine Judgment
West Lafayette, Indiana
Harper Grey punched End on his sat phone and set it back on the side table next to the plush couch he’d taken over in the reverend’s office. The smoke from his cigar floated up from the ashtray on the same table. He picked up the stogie and took a drag, then looked over at the reverend, or archbishop, or prophet, or whatever he was calling himself today. The man was watching Harper and tapping his fingers on his desk.
Sebastian Wright, leader of the hundred-thousand-plus strong Church, spoke in clipped words, impatient for news. “Well, Mr. Grey? What have you to report?”
Harper took his time replying. He blew smoke rings upward and watched them curl in upon themselves. “The attack is ongoing.”
“You assured me that the number of forces I provided would be more than enough to—”
“Calm yourself, Reverend,” Grey continued, still not looking at the reverend. “We have already had some success.”
“What? What success? Speak plainly, I command you!”
Harper sat forward with the speed of a striking snake, and Wright flinched backward. “You command me?”
“Uh, yes, well, I mean, please tell me what you mean.”
Harper held his position for a moment and then smiled. Wright flinched again. Harper had been told he had the smile of a shark, and it was times like this that he believed it.
“I mean that our ultimate goal was a success. We extracted the believer—our spy—from the nest of infidels. He’s on his way here even now. The rest of the battle is just for show at this point.”
“Well, that’s great news! Why didn’t you say so?”
“I believe I did.”
“So the turncoat has made his play and will soon be in our hands. God is good! We’ll soon have everything we need to take down the mongrel horde once and for all, paving the way for the Anointed to retake the Earth.”
“As you say, Reverend.”
“And what of the Brethren that led the attack? Have they been rewarded for their part in the success of the operation?”
Harper grinned again. “They have received their just reward, Reverend, I promise you.” He blew another smoke ring. “Their just reward indeed.”
Des Moines International Airport
Eden had no idea what the overall battle looked like. The fighting was everywhere. The idea of any sort of perimeter was long gone. She and her men were trying to watch 360 degrees at once to make sure none of them got knifed in the back. It was madness.
It was war. And war never changed.
Eden had never seen anything like it and could only assume that there was no one in command on the other side, which would make sense, given the size of the explosions they’d seen to the west. Right now, though, they had a different problem.
The bright sun reflected off the few windows that remained in the hotels to the south, and she and the others had been unable to find the sniper. There was no choice now but to infiltrate both hotels and check them floor by floor as far up as they could safely get. This guy was good—better than her and almost as good as Colonel Gaines, which meant as long as he had ammo, he was a problem.
She pushed thoughts of Reynolds out of her head. He would make it or he wouldn’t, and either way, it wouldn’t change her mission here. Their one saving grace was that the hotels were only three stories each.
They had crept through the brush and trees between the slaughter they’d found at the southern Quonset hut and were hunkered down in some sort of ditch beside what looked like a driveway, or what had once been a driveway before the woods had begun to reclaim the land. It was going to be another tough slog between here and the first of the hotels, but there was nothing for it but to get going.
“Move out. Slow and steady. Foretti, keep an eye out for movement. You get a shot, you take it.” Eden glanced over and saw him nod, his eye glued to his rifle’s scope.
She took the lead, and they all began to move through the brush and trees. They took their time, careful not to jostle the trees or disturb any birds. No sense giving away their position when they’d come this far.
It took them twenty minutes by her estimation, but they ended up at the edge of the parking lot, far enough back to avoid being seen but with much better lines of sight on the building. Once again, they scanned the area and came up empty. Eden began to think they might’ve been wrong about where the shot came from.
“Report, Alpha Four.” Marquez’s voice came through her earpiece, and she winced before turning down the volume.
“Negative contacts. Say again, no contacts,” she said. “We are ready to breach on your go. Sir, we’ve seen no movement from this building. No contacts of any kind. Are we sure—”
She saw the spray of bark and felt the jarring impact from the tree she had chosen for cover before she heard the crack of the rifle. All three of them dropped to the ground in place as more shots were fired.
“Scratch that, Hunter One. We are taking fire. Repeat, we are taking fire. At least one hostile, possibly more. Returning fire.”
Foretti began to fire back toward the hotel, and the pace of the sniper’s shots slowed.
“Roger that, Alpha Four. We have a bit of a surprise for them. Pull back, now!”
Eden clicked her mic twice and began to crawl backward along with her teammates. All three continued to fire at the hotel in alternating bursts. This would, at least theoretically, keep the sniper guessing as to their location and number.
A moment later, she heard the roar of a Stryker, clapped her hands over her ears, and made herself as small as possible to avoid being crushed as it slammed through the brush ten feet to her right
. The twin cannons began firing, as she knew they would, and through the haze of smoke, she saw the face of the hotel begin to disappear.
There was no other word for it. The .50-caliber rounds from the cannons vaporized the weathered and ancient concrete of the building. The gunner tracked the line of fire back and forth across the building’s façade, and it wasn’t long before the damage was too much for the old hotel to handle.
She shouted in triumph as the building collapsed. The ground shook beneath her as the Stryker continued to fire until the building was completely destroyed. Only then did the cannons stop and the back ramp of the vehicle come down. Some officer she didn’t know waved at them to come in. As they popped up and ran for the shelter of the armored vehicle, Eden smiled.
That was one way to take out a sniper.
Headquarters
First Church of the Divine Judgment
West Lafayette, Indiana
The reverend’s office had a nice rug. He’d had it so long, he no longer remembered where he’d gotten it. Probably a donation from some believer, no doubt stolen from some hotel or museum or who knew where. It was a plush rug with deep pile, round with an intriguing geometric design in bright colors that hadn’t faded with age. It was one of Sebastian’s favorite possessions, and one of the things he liked most about his comfortable and elegant office.
And Harper Grey was wearing a hole in it with his ceaseless pacing.
“Will you please sit down!” Wright had tried to soften his tone somewhat, but he still got a quick glance from the other man, a glance that set the reverend standing up from where he’d been leaning on the front of his desk. “Please?”
Grey stayed still for a moment, then took a seat on the couch to one side. He sat down so hard, Wright winced at the treatment of the fine furniture. Wright exhaled the breath he hadn’t known he was holding and prayed yet again for patience. Grey was a useful tool and had been for years, but it was like holding the tiger by the tail: he had no idea if he’d ever be able to let go.
There was a buzz on Wright’s desk, and he reached over and pushed the intercom button on his phone. He didn’t believe in technology, but sometimes the evils of the old world were just too good to pass up. He trusted that his God would forgive him the slight blasphemy, given the good works he had done all these years.
“Yes?” he said into the speaker.
“Some men are here to see you, Your Grace,” his secretary said. Jordana’s voice always sent a thrill through him, and it had taken all of a week for him to fall from grace and right into her arms years back. Of course, no one knew that but the two of them. It wouldn’t do for any of his brethren to find out their leader was not quite as chaste as he preached they should be.
“Very well, Sister, send them in.”
Harper stood and moved to the side of Wright’s desk, within easy reach of the reverend. As Wright’s bodyguard—among other things—this was proper, but Wright still felt uneasy with the man that close. Tigers had been known to turn on their owners.
The double doors into his office opened wide, and four guards entered, two disheveled and shackled men between each pair. The first was a brother of the Church, or had once been, given his robes. Wright was incensed that they should treat a brother this way, but then he remembered giving an order.
“Put him over there,” he said to the guards with the other prisoner as he pointed to one side. To the ones hauling the former Brother, he held up a hand, and they stopped where they were. Wright walked over to inspect the prisoner. “Brother Ezekiel, I presume.”
The beaten man looked up at the reverend, and Wright almost backed up a step. Ezekiel had been beaten within an inch of his life. Bruises, a shattered cheekbone, and one eye swollen shut were just a few of the injuries he saw. But given what the man had done, this was just the beginning.
Ezekiel spit words out like teeth. “My bishop… praise be to my bishop… Lord our God…”
“He’s babbling,” Wright said and shook his head. “One too many blows to the head.”
Ezekiel rallied for a moment. “I am a believer, blessed by God to be one of the Anointed, Your Grace. I tried, my God, I tried. They captured me, tortured me…”
Wright squatted down in front of the man and ran one hand along the other’s cheek in mock tenderness. “I know, Brother, I know,” the reverend said. “You were captured, and they tortured you.” Then he grabbed a fistful of hair and yanked the man’s head back. “And you told them everything! Our spies reported how you talked, how you told them all the Church’s secrets. That you gave them everything they wanted to know. You’re a traitor.”
“No!” Ezekiel yelled, then fell into a fit of coughing. “No, I told them nothing! It is a lie perpetrated on us to destroy the Church…”
“You’re a traitor and a liar, and you will be treated as such,” Wright said as he stood and motioned to the guards holding Ezekiel. “Take him to the Interrogators. See that they extract all they can from him.”
Wright could still hear Ezekiel screaming long after the doors were shut and he had turned to the other prisoner.
His military uniform was dirty and bloodstained, no doubt from the obvious beating he’d taken on his way here. One or another of the believers who’d been transporting the man had obviously had some fun with him on the way. Wright could just read the name MANCUSO over his breast pocket, despite the state of the uniform. There was a golden cross on a chain around his neck, Wright noted. Perhaps this man wasn’t just a turncoat after all, but a believer? Or at least someone who could be made into a believer. At some point anyway. Right now, the man was barely on his feet, and his head sagged forward in submission.
One of the guards spoke up but didn’t address Wright. Rather, he spoke to Harper Grey. This, too, was as it should be. The lowly brethren were not worthy to speak directly to him.
“Reporting with the prisoner as ordered, sir,” the older guard said. His manner indicated he was ex-military from before Z-Day. There were more than a few like him in the ranks of the devoted.
“Very well,” Grey said. “Leave us.” When the guard hesitated, Grey spoke once more. “Was there something else, Brother?”
“No, sir. It’s just… He’s a dangerous infidel, sir. I’d really feel better—”
Grey was towering over the guard in a blink. Wright shook his head. Literally, the man had moved in the blink of an eye. How could anyone be that fast?
“Did I ask how you felt?” Grey’s face was an inch, maybe less, from the face of the guard. “Or do you imagine that I am incapable of handling a disarmed, shackled prisoner?”
The guard didn’t shake with fear or tremble at this, another sign that he was ex-military. To Wright anyway. “No, sir. Not at all, sir.” The guard did as perfect an about-face as Wright had ever seen, marched out with his men, and closed the doors behind them. The traitor infidel just stood there with Grey an arm’s length away.
Wright sat on the edge of his desk and considered the man before him. Grey circled the man, looking him up and down, as a shark circles its prey before moving in for the kill.
“We have a traitor here, Mr. Grey. An infidel.”
“We do, Your Grace,” Grey replied. “We do, indeed.”
“A traitor twice over,” Wright continued. “Once to his own species and once to his friends. He abandoned his men—his fellow infidels—to their fate, knowing that God would judge them, and righteously so. Knowing they would go to Hell and burn forever for their attempts to stop the Divine Judgment.”
“That was his lesser betrayal. Long before that, he abandoned his God and his own species to be in league with the infidels in the first place. He signed the seal of pain and torment on his soul that day. He lost any chance he had at Heaven and consigned himself to a Hell not just here on Earth, but in the afterlife as well.”
Wright stood and paced himself as the fire of the heavenly spirit took him. “He threw the Lord’s grace back at him, denying him, decrying his own good sou
l and choosing the nonbeliever, the infidel, the diseased and corrupt instead. He joined the billions of damned souls this world has produced, this world of deceit and depravity and sin!”
For Wright, he could feel the spirit move through him. He could hear God’s voice in his heart, could feel it in his bones. “This unbeliever, this infidel, this unclean one comes to us today, comes to the Lord seeking redemption, seeking absolution, seeking help to return from the darkness and move into the light! Shall we grant it, Brother Grey?”
“There is always a way to return to the light, Your Grace!”
“He can redeem himself, I believe! He can bring himself back into the glory of God. He can show us he truly believes and wishes to repent, to absolve himself of his sin!”
Wright moved forward, one hand outstretched to the bent head of the infidel. “If he is ready, oh, if he is ready to be redeemed, then he shall be free. Free to prove himself and his devotion to the Lord! Free to show all the other traitors and infidels and non-believers that they, too, can be Cleansed! We shall make him one of them, a sign from on high! We shall go to the Temple, and he shall be Cleansed!”
Wright stepped forward and placed his hand on Mancuso’s head. He could hear the soft clink of the chains that held the man’s shackles. He could smell the battle he’d fought, the blood on his uniform. He could feel the dirt, grime, and sweat under his palm. But the spirit had him now, and there was no turning back.
“We shall lead him back into the light! We shall—”
“The only place you’re going to be leading anyone, Reverend, is straight to Hell!” Mancuso interrupted Wright, throwing his arms up and out. He slammed his elbow into Grey’s crotch, and the man doubled over with a grunt. Mancuso knocked Wright’s hand away and twisted his chains around the Reverend’s throat, then pulled hard.
Wright couldn’t believe what he was seeing. He could feel the air start to cut off, and he fought. When he couldn’t pull the chain off his throat, he scratched and gouged at the infidel’s face. Mancuso forced him to his knees, and Wright couldn’t do anything to stop it. His attacker stepped around and continued to choke the reverend.
The Dying of the Light (Book 3): Beginning Page 42
