by R. D. Brady
He held open the door for her. She slipped through. A few minutes later, they were driving off of the grounds, no one the wiser.
His face looked harsh in the dim light. A little sliver of fear rippled through her. What was she doing? She didn’t know Gerard. All she knew of him was from a handful of interactions and what her visions had shown her. This was crazy.
“Having second thoughts?”
She shook her head, but her voice shook. “No, of course not.”
“Sure.”
They drove for a few minutes in silence before he spoke again. “So, I need you to find the Omni.”
Certain of this answer at least, she nodded. “Yes.”
“And do you know where we are going to find it?”
“Egypt.”
Chapter 8
Washington, D.C.
The hall leading to the Oval Office was narrower than most people expected. But when the building of the White House first began in 1792, on a site chosen by George Washington, homes were smaller. Sometimes whole families lived in one-room buildings. The first White House was burned down by the British in the War of 1812 and was not reoccupied until 1817. It had been added on to over the years and rearranged but still maintained the smaller hallways and rooms of the bygone era. Now, however, the rooms off the hall were filled with computers, modems, and electronic equipment the founding fathers never could have imagined.
As Nancy Harrigan walked down the hall, people scurried out of her way with a nod. In these halls, Nancy was one of the big sharks. She did not step aside. As secretary of state, her job was relegated to the foreign affairs of the United States. The Elisabeta Roccorio situation wasn’t officially within her purview. But Elisabeta had so blurred the lines between domestic and foreign actions, no one was technically in charge of everything she was accused of—attempting to instigate World War III, domestic attacks, political takeovers, and generalized authoritarian tactics. No one in the United States government had a position that covered all of those. Nancy wasn’t even sure what the title of such a position would be. Director of Apocalyptic Activities? Secretary of World Security? Chief of Last Chance Tactics? Tsar of Biblical Carnage?
So Nancy had stepped in to fill the void. Besides, she had the time. Right now no one cared about trade agreements or boundary disputes. Nope, everyone was focused on finding Elisabeta.
Nancy turned into the outer office of the Oval. Neil Jakub, the President’s aide, caught sight of her. He headed for the door to the Oval. The Oval Office itself didn’t come into existence until after the Taft Administration—Lincoln’s bedroom used to be the President’s office. The spot where the Oval Office now stood used to be a secretary’s office. But it was later determined the President should be at the center of the action. Before the President took over the space, it was modified to a complete Oval and had remained relatively unchanged since 1934.
Hand on the knob, Neil nodded at Nancy. “She’s ready for you.”
Nancy took a deep breath as the door opened. It didn’t matter how many times she stepped through this doorway, she was always filled with awe at the history that this room had borne witness to. Visiting always reinforced the responsibility she felt for the role in history that she was currently playing.
President Margaret Rigley looked up from the Resolute desk, perhaps made most famous by JFK in the whimsical picture with his son John peeking out from the kneehole panel underneath. There was no whimsy in this President’s appearance as she looked up at Nancy, though. She pushed back from the desk, waving Nancy toward the two couches facing each other. As usual, the President took the large club chair between the couches.
Nancy took a seat, waiting for the President to speak first.
The President placed the folder she’d been reading on the table next to her chair. “Your file is detailed, but I have a feeling there is a lot left out.”
Nancy nodded. “I believe a lifetime of information, or if everything Matthew Clark says is true, lifetimes of information. I tried to scale it down to the most relevant.”
“You trust this Clark?”
Nancy did not hesitate. “Absolutely. He is a straight shooter. As straight as they come.”
“And also a Fallen.”
Nancy nodded. “So it seems.”
“I have to confess, I’m not sure what to make of all this—Fallen angels, a ring bearer, Samyaza. It sounds insane.”
“Agreed. And yet . . .”
The President nodded with a sigh. “And yet.”
Both lapsed into silence. Nancy struggled with what to say. The President was one of the most intelligent people Nancy had ever met. Nancy knew she was looking at this issue from a myriad of angles Nancy hadn’t even contemplated yet. But she also knew the President was well aware of the political fallout that could result from picking the wrong approach.
“Are you sure Delaney McPhearson is not a terrorist?”
Nancy paused, weighing her words carefully. “From my read, Delaney McPhearson was thrust into a position she had no inkling of just three years ago. Her actions have always involved protecting the lives of others, often to the detriment of herself. In Israel, she could have let the bomb go off to avoid her abilities being uncovered, but she chose to sacrifice her anonymity in order to save thousands, if not more, from the war that would have resulted. I do not think she is the bad guy in this drama.”
“You believe that role is played by Elisabeta.”
Nancy nodded.
“What of all her charitable works? Her philanthropy?”
“A cover. We’ve seen it before. And if what I am reading is accurate, the threat she poses is well beyond anything this world has seen before.”
“Samyaza, leader of the Fallen angels . . . do we actually believe that is who she is? And that even if she is, that it is somehow relevant in the modern world?”
“I’ve sent you the clips of the Fallen incidents we are aware of. And the history of Samyaza’s attempts to dominate this world. I believe she is the single biggest threat to the world at large.”
“And what of the threat of Delaney McPhearson? She can control the weather, electricity, animals, and she can control these Fallen. Isn’t that power a greater threat?”
“Potentially, yes, I think her power may be a greater threat. Someday. But today, I think she is our greatest hope in stopping Elisabeta.”
Silence descended, stretching between them. Nancy did not know which way the President would fall on the issue. She was glad at that moment that the decision was not hers.
“Has there been any sign of Elisabeta?”
“No. All our intelligence agencies have made finding her a priority, as have most of the governments of the Western world. But so far, she has not been sighted.”
“That alone is damning.” She paused. “I’ve spoken with the attorney general. He does not support dropping the charges against Delaney McPhearson.”
Nancy wasn’t surprised. Dick Chenwick was a staunch law-and-order guy.
“He believes McPhearson is guilty, as does forty percent of the country,” said the President.
“True. But another forty percent believes she is not. And testimonies from the people she’s saved that keep cropping up are increasing that percentage every day.”
The President nodded before turning to look out the window. Clouds dotted an otherwise beautiful blue sky. “The Fallen have powers that no human should have. It tips the scales too much in their favor.”
“It does.”
“And Delaney McPhearson’s power outweighs even theirs. If she should choose to utilize that power for her own gain . . .” The President left the thought unfinished.
“Delaney McPhearson is a risk. But the immediate problem is not Delaney. She is a problem for the future. The disappearance of Elisabeta is the current problem. The woman is not hiding quietly in the shadows. She is plotting. She is planning.”
“Are you sure she isn’t just holed up somewhere, licking her wounds? Her
movements are restricted due to her notoriety. She is pinned, cornered.”
Nancy remembered her conversation with Matt yesterday. “And when an animal is cornered is when it is the most dangerous. I think that when Elisabeta’s mask was ripped from her, it did cause her to stumble. But now that she’s regrouped, she’s planning. She no longer has to hide who she is, what she can do. I think when Elisabeta reemerges, well, we’ll need to pray that Delaney McPhearson is available to take her on.”
“And if she isn’t?”
“Then God help us all.”
Chapter 9
Galeton, Pennsylvania
The extra miles had helped tire Laney out, but her mind had continued to churn as she climbed the porch steps. Why India? It had to be related to the Omni, but whatever was there had been hidden for over ten thousand years. What did Elisabeta think she would find after all this time? She crossed the last few feet to the door and let herself into the cabin, shutting down her thoughts.
Her uncle turned from his spot at the stove with a smile. The early morning light highlighted the gray that had begun to appear in Patrick Delaney’s red hair. But his blue eyes twinkled, and his Scottish brogue sounded a little stronger in the quiet. “How was your run?”
“Good.” She sat down at the table.
He placed a mug of tea in front of her before taking a seat opposite her. “How far?”
“Um . . .” She glanced at her watch. “Not sure. Somewhere between ten and twelve miles.”
“Ah, to be young again.”
Laney gave him a distracted smile, her hands wrapped around the warm mug of tea. It was unseasonably cool this morning. Even with the run, the tea was a nice little spot of warmth.
“What has you so lost in thought?” her uncle asked, his blue eyes focused on her above his own mug of tea.
Laney shook her head, clearing her thoughts. “A little bit of everything.” She paused, studying her uncle. He’d raised her since she was eight, and there was no man she trusted or respected more. And she realized she wanted his opinion to help her sort through the noise in her mind.
“Actually,” she began slowly, “I’ve been thinking about immortality.”
His eyebrows rose. “I see.”
“Victoria and I spoke about it once. She told me that humans at our earliest incarnations were almost immortal and that it was not good for humanity.”
“I would think that was probably true. Humans do not do well with excess, be it wealth, power, or even just social standing. The potential to abuse seems to be hardwired into our DNA.”
“Do you think immortality will always bring out the worst in people?”
“Is this about Drake?”
Laney jolted. “Drake? No, no, I hadn’t been thinking about him at all. Where is he, anyway?”
“Sleeping.” Patrick studied her. “So if this isn’t about Drake, it’s about Elisabeta. You don’t think she’s given up her quest for immortality.”
“No. I don’t think that is something she’ll give up, and I don’t know how we’ll fight her if she’s unkillable.”
“Nothing’s truly immortal. After all, Victoria found a way to stop humanity’s immortality. There’s always a way.”
Laney nodded, hearing Cain somewhere outside singing with Victoria. But that knowledge is locked away in the mind of a toddler.
“Rulers have tried for centuries to find the key to everlasting life.”
Laney nodded, her mind rolling through the points in history. Gilgamesh, after losing his best friend, hunted down an alleged immortal named Utnapishtim trying to become immortal. After uniting China in 200 BCE, the first emperor of China was desperate to find the key to immortality. During his bid, he ingested mercury pills, which hastened his own death. Other emperors took on the quest, eventually resulting in the creation of a substance, which, rather than creating immortality, hastened mortality: gunpowder. In the Western world, legends abounded about the Kingdom of Prester John, which allegedly held the Fountain of Youth. Searchers all came up empty.
But the search for immortality was not only an interest of those in the past. Modern-day efforts to unlock the key to immortality continued. Russian Internet mogul Dmitry Itskov believed he would be able to make humans immortal by 2045. The Methuselah Foundation was dedicated to findings cures to seven types of age-related damage such as loss of cells, excessive cell division, and inadequate cell death. In fact, there were a slew of Silicon Valley initiatives directed at either slowing down, reversing, or even stopping aging.
Patrick paused. “But it’s not an academic conversation you wish to have.”
She shook her head.
“Would you ever want to be immortal?”
“No,” Laney said without hesitation.
“That was pretty definitive.” Patrick frowned, studying her. “It’s not just her search that worries you. It’s what you might have to do if she achieves it. That you might have to become immortal yourself to defeat her. What exactly worries you?”
She considered not answering or giving him a shallow response. But she needed someone to talk to. “I worry that I would change. That I wouldn’t be me. That if I took that step, I wouldn’t be able to take it back.”
He reached out, grasping her hand. “Mortal or immortal, you’d still be you.”
“I don’t think that’s true. That power has to change how you view the world. Victoria, when she spoke of immortality, about how we humans used to be, she told how we got greedy, that we got spoiled by it. What if that happens to me? In fact, it will happen to me. Who will I be if I never have to fear death?”
“But you will always fear the death of those you love. You love, Laney, that’s how you keep it from happening. You love the people in your life and you recognize that other people feel the same way by others in their lives. That’s how you stay the path.”
Laney stared at him, feeling all the love she had for him. Tears crested in her eyes. “I still wouldn’t want to live this life without you.”
Patrick leaned in, placing a kiss on her forehead, his voice shaky. “I love you, Laney. But I was always going to go ahead of you. But even when I am gone, I will still be with you.”
“But what about a normal life? A family? Do I get that?”
He frowned. “Who says you can’t have that?”
“Who says I can?”
The back door slammed. Laney turned her attention to the hall, happy for the distraction. Her uncle’s gaze was a little too knowing, his questions too close to a truth she couldn’t yet reveal.
She smiled as little Victoria sprinted into the kitchen with a giggle, Cain right behind her. “Gotcha,” he cried, swooping her up into his arms. She squealed, wrapping her arms around his neck. He nuzzled her cheek before dropping her gently back to the ground. She toddled into the living room, plopping on the floor in front of her basket of toys.
Laney hadn’t been surprised at how good Patrick was with Victoria. But she had been surprised at how good Cain was with her. She studied Cain, whose face was soft as he watched the little girl who had lived lifetime after lifetime. She was good for him. He had stepped into the role of father with no prodding. He was the first one by her side when she cried at night, the first to feed her in the morning, the last to hug her before she went to sleep. Victoria had given him a chance to love, and he had blossomed in that role.
Cain made his way to the kitchen and poured himself a cup of tea, looking over at Laney and her uncle. “Why do you two look so serious?”
“Not me,” Patrick said. “The seriousness is all her.”
Cain turned his black eyes to Laney and raised an eyebrow, waiting.
“There’s a lot going on. Not the least of which is what to do with Victoria, where to hide her. We can’t stay here forever.”
“Are we in any immediate danger?” Cain asked.
“No, but I just feel like we are on the edge. Like something’s about to happen.”
Patrick and Cain exchanged a glance.
“You two feel it, too,” she said. It wasn’t a question.
“Yes. But until we know what is heading for us, there is little for us to do,” Cain said.
She sighed. On the floor, Victoria pulled two stuffed animals from the basket and placed them on the couch before tucking the blanket on the couch over them. Kissing each of them, she plopped down on the floor with a book, which she opened and began to read upside-down.
“When I look at her,” said Laney, “it’s difficult to see her as just a child. I mean, she is the Mother of All wrapped in a toddler’s body. I wish I could look at her as just a child.”
“Patrick and I have been speaking about that,” Cain said slowly. “And we think that there might be a way to help with that.”
“What’s that?”
“Her name,” Patrick said. “We’ve been calling her Victoria, but she’s not Victoria. Not yet. She’s an innocent. I thought perhaps we could change her name. Help her have a childhood.”
Laney glanced at her again. “Huh. I think you’re right. A new name would be a good way to help remind us all who she is, and most importantly, who she is not.” Laney paused, glancing at her uncle, who nodded back at her with a smile. She turned to Cain. “You should name her.”
Cain’s mouth fell open. “No, I think—”
“Cain, you’ve known her longer than the rest of us,” said Patrick. “You’ve loved her longer than the rest of us. One day, when she does remember, she will approve of you having been the one to give her her name. Do you have any in mind?”
Cain nodded slowly, his voice unusually hesitant. “I . . . I have always liked Nyssa. It’s a Greek name. It means new beginning.”
“Nyssa,” Laney said, trying it out. She smiled. “It’s beautiful.”
“And appropriate,” Patrick said. “This is her new beginning. So I guess Nyssa it is.”
Cain smiled. “Now, what are your thoughts on a puppy? Every little girl should have a puppy.”
