The spymaster hesitated.
The old man heaved himself to his feet. “I didn’t want to believe it was true—that you would murder your own father in cold blood.”
“You left me little choice,” Joshua countered. “You’ve exhibited very poor judgment of late. Instead of leading the Blessed Nephilim with a firm hand, you’ve been wasting your time doting on unworthy miscreants like Hannah and Daniel.”
“And you think I should have doted on you instead?” Abraham asked wearily.
“You should have made me scion instead!” Joshua spat back, pulling the trigger. He braced himself for the recoil, but nothing happened. He fired again with the same result.
“Your associates betrayed you,” the diviner informed him coldly.
“Enoch and Lemuel? That’s impossible!”
“No, Commander Matthew has taken those two into custody. It was the other two—Shem and Paul. Apparently, they feared that murdering God’s own prophet might carry a heavy penalty in the afterlife.”
Joshua stared at his pistol stupidly. “I trusted Shem to load this for me.”
“Trust,” the diviner murmured. “You’re a fine one to complain of treachery. Mr. Bowdeen trusted you, and you shot him in the back.”
“I had no desire to betray Mr. Bowdeen. His death was simply a matter of expediency.” Joshua’s lips twisted into a bitter smile. “I learned that lesson from you, Father. You taught all your sons the value of expediency. Do you know how many of us there are? Can you even remember our names? We were never family to you—just interchangeable pawns on a chessboard. You only took the trouble to notice us when we proved especially useful. My spineless brother should have remained nameless as well, but you needed a bookish soldier in your campaign against the Fallen. I was superior to Daniel in every respect—more clever, more ruthless, willing to execute your orders without hesitation. The perfect weapon. But no matter how perfect I was, Daniel proved to be a better-fitting cog in your war machine.”
He laughed grimly. “By choosing him, you taught me that expediency trumps all. I didn’t betray you, Father. You betrayed me. You’re entirely to blame for what happens next.” He threw his gun to the floor. “Maybe I can’t shoot you, but I can still choke the life out of you!”
He lunged forward, but before he could reach the spot where Abraham stood, the spymaster felt a bullet tear through his chest. Then another. Joshua choked on the blood filling his lungs and fell to the ground.
***
Abraham lowered the pocket pistol in his right hand. Almost immediately, his door flew open, and Commander Matthew entered with two other men. “Sir, are you alright?”
Instead of replying, the diviner swayed slightly on his feet.
One of the sentries ran forward and took his gun.
“You should sit down,” the commander urged, trying to guide him to his chair.
The diviner shook him off. “No. I wish to stand.” He gazed down at the body of his dead son and noted the blood pooling around his corpse. “Everything happened just the way you said it would.”
“Yes, sir,” the commander affirmed uncomfortably.
“Are Hannah and Daniel safe?” he asked.
“Yes. Shem and Paul told us what to expect. No harm has come to them.” He paused and cleared his throat. “What do you want to do about the conspirators, Enoch and Lemuel?”
Abraham sighed heavily. “Let them share the fate of the man who led them astray. Execute them tonight then take their bodies to the lab for disposal.” He glanced down at Joshua. “Along with this one.”
The commander opened the door and peered outside before ducking back in. “It’s a wonder that all of this didn’t wake the community.”
“The people are to know nothing of what happened. I’ll tell the families of the condemned men that they have left the compound.”
“You mean that they were excommunicated?” the commander asked.
“Yes. That’s all anybody needs to know.” Abraham rubbed his head wearily. “Now leave me and take this mess with you.”
The two sentries had come prepared for their task. One of them produced a body bag. Joshua’s corpse was zipped inside and carried from the room.
The commander dropped to the floor and rolled up the blood-stained rug. “I’ll dispose of this too,” he offered.
“Come to my office for a debriefing at ten in the morning,” Abraham instructed.
“Yes, sir. Goodnight.”
The diviner stood in the doorframe watching the three men recede down the hall with their ghastly cargo.
While a disaster had been averted, Abraham couldn’t help but think that the devil had won another victory tonight. His own son had betrayed him. Tears streamed down his cheeks unheeded. He dashed them away impatiently and re-entered his quarters, shutting the door behind him.
As he was walking toward his chair, a dark shape loomed up in his path, stopping him dead in his tracks. He blinked, knowing he was wide awake. He hadn’t taken any medicine tonight in anticipation of Joshua’s visit.
“Hello, Father.” He recognized the familiar mocking tone.
This wasn’t happening in his head. He had distinctly heard a female voice with his own ears. “Annabeth!”
“In the flesh,” she replied, reaching out to touch his arm.
He recoiled and staggered backward.
She advanced a few paces. Annabeth was attired as she had been in life. The grey dress and white apron of a consecrated bride, her hair bound neatly around her head. “I told you we’d chat again soon.”
“The devil is behind this!” he exclaimed.
She laughed humorlessly. “It wasn’t the devil who shot your son in the chest.” She put her hands on her hips and wagged her head. “Blame the devil, not yourself. Another son drops from the shelf.”
He lumbered toward his seat, shoving her aside in passing, but she evaporated so that his hand waved through empty air. Abraham sank heavily into his armchair.
A split second later, Annabeth rematerialized, as solid as before. She leaned over him, her hands clamped to his forearms. He felt her weight sinking into the armrests.
“These things come in threes, you know.” She gave a malicious grin. “Two sons fallen, one to go.”
Abraham turned his head aside and shut his eyes. A second later when he opened them, she was gone.
Chapter 49—Cabin in the Sky
In a rural area outside of Tokyo, the first rays of dawn colored the sky. Sunrise signaled the end of a night-long vigil held by two men in a parked car. The driver was using binoculars to scan a paved lane climbing up a wooded hillside. The road terminated in front of a pair of tall iron gates with a familiar Chi-Ro cross insignia. He glanced briefly at his companion who was slumped against the passenger side window, snoring loudly.
The driver snapped to attention as he saw headlights looming behind the gates.
“Hey, wake up!” he jostled his companion.
The passenger coughed and snorted as he sat upright. “What is it?”
“Somebody’s leaving,” the driver informed him.
“Huh?” the passenger was fully awake now. He checked his watch in disbelief. “It’s only four-thirty. We’ve been staking them out for two weeks now, and the Nephilim never scurry out of their rat hole before morning prayers.”
“I know,” the driver agreed ominously. “It’s peculiar.”
The iron gates parted, and a dark sedan eased through them.
The driver raised his night-vision binoculars again to scan the sedan’s interior as it came down the hill. “There’s only one guy inside.”
His companion sat forward. “They usually travel in packs. I guess this must be it.”
“But they’re hours ahead of schedule,” the driver pointed out. “Instructions from the vault said to be on the lookout for activity sometime around noon Central European Time. That’s when Maddie estimated Metcalf might give the kill order if her people co
uldn’t stop him.”
“She also warned that we’re dealing with a bunch of fanatics led by a crazy man. Logic might not apply in this situation.”
The driver shifted the car into gear and pulled onto the road, intending to follow the Nephilim vehicle at a safe distance. “You better alert the security division back at HQ. Tell them they need to get the word out to the rest of our surveillance crews in all the strike zones. The Argus agents are on the move.”
His companion was already placing the call. As he waited for a connection, he turned worriedly to the driver. “If even one of our teams fails to intercept Metcalf’s delivery boys, the world is in for a really bad day.”
***
The helicopter rose from the ground, hovered, and then headed southeast. Leroy Hunt settled in for the short flight to the final showdown in yet another mountain cave. The cowboy checked his watch. At that very moment, the preacher’s death squads were releasing poison gas on various points east. They’d started in the land of the rising sun and were following daybreak as it traveled westward. As a matter of idle curiosity, Leroy wondered how fast the plague might spread. He wasn’t worried about catching it himself though. He’d been vaccinated along with everybody else making the trip.
Metcalf and his posse had flown from Chicago to northeastern Norway the day before. The old man had decided to come through the backdoor instead of following the same route as the thieves. It would make for a cleaner getaway once everything was over. Leroy had used his connections to get them a chopper which would take them across the border to their mountain rendezvous. He’d also hired a pilot who wasn’t inclined to ask any questions about his passengers’ business.
The cowboy glanced around the cabin at his fellow travelers. They sat in two groups of four, facing each other across the aisle. He felt in the mood to strike up a conversation, but the three men flanking him didn’t appear particularly chatty. Two of them were tin soldiers whose names Leroy hadn’t bothered to learn. They sat staring straight ahead, their faces all puckered up. The third was named Commander Matthew, and he looked the sourest of all. No doubt he was having a little trouble adjusting to his new job as the preacher’s chief of security. Or maybe he was just having trouble wrapping his head around the way he’d gotten promoted. The night before they left, the preacher’s son Josh had finally made a move on his own daddy. Luckily, the old man had heeded Hunt’s advice and plugged the kid first. It was a good thing too. Otherwise, Josh might have royally screwed up Hunt’s trip to Easy Street.
Leroy transferred his attention to the four passengers sitting opposite. The preacher was in the middle of the group with eyes shut and lips moving. He was probably praying for some spare thunderbolts from on high to help him take out his enemies. Even while lost in prayer, the old man kept a paw clamped over the hand of his missus.
Little Hannah let her eyes wander in Hunt’s direction. He smiled at her. She froze like a scared rabbit. He’d seen that same look in her eyes from her wedding photo. The one the preacher had given him to track her down with. She immediately turned her head away and pretended to stare out the window. Maybe the old man was wise to hold a tight rein on the gal. She looked likely to bolt the first chance she got.
Hunt next focused on the runt sitting by the window. Brother Daniel seemed even more twitchy than usual today. He kept wriggling around in his seat like a swarm of fire ants had found themselves a new home in his britches.
On the other side of the preacher sat Blondie. As Hunt cast a glance in his direction, he realized the hostage had been watching him. The thief gave a cocky sneer at having caught the cowboy off guard. Leroy took great comfort in the notion that this was the last day he would ever be plagued by that particular thorn in his side. Still of all, he made a mental note to keep close tabs on the thief until the deal was done.
The cowboy found himself pondering whether any of his fellow travelers had a notion of the old man’s end game. The preacher never meant to keep his word to the thieves. The hostages were just brought along for show to get some cooperation in digging up the last doodad. Metcalf’s plan was to keep little Hannah as his lawfully-wedded wife. The minute the transaction was finished, Hunt had been ordered to kill the three thieves and anybody else they’d brought to the party. Leroy’s hand strayed briefly to his holster. He’d been careful to choose the right tool for the job—a Glock 18 fully-automatic pistol. Accuracy of aim wasn’t important in a massacre. The Glock could empty its thirty-three round magazine in a matter of seconds and shoot 1,200 bullets in a single minute. There was no question the thieves and their friends would drop before they ever knew what hit them.
What the preacher didn’t know was that Hunt had a follow-up job of his own planned. He’d keep shooting til everybody else in that cave was dead too. Then he’d go outside and gun down any armed guards they might have brought with them. The only person left alive would be the pilot. For a cut, he’d already agreed to help Leroy make a clean getaway.
The cowboy glanced down at a black leather bag resting next to the preacher’s feet. All the doodads were inside. Leroy hadn’t been able to believe his ears when the old man announced he would be bringing the whole set because they were needed to pry the last one loose. Hunt had been scratching his head for months wondering how he was going to raid the preacher’s vault and make off with its contents. As matters stood, he wouldn’t have to. The loot was being handed to him on a silver platter—a silver platter in the shape of a black leather bag sitting four feet away. The only reason Leroy hadn’t plugged the preacher and taken the bag was because he wanted to capture the biggest prize of all. Metcalf set more store by whatever was buried in that mountain than all the rest of his trinkets combined. Leroy reasoned that the final doodad must be worth ten times as much. It wouldn’t kill him to wait another day for a score that big. He leaned back in his seat and closed his eyes. All he had to do was bide his time for another hour or so. Like his momma always told him, “Leroy, good things come to those who wait.”
Chapter 50—A Verbis Ad Verbera
Cassie struggled to untangle the laces of her hiking boots. The Arkana team was due to leave any minute for their rendezvous with the Nephilim on Ahkka Mountain. Maddie had rented a handful of isolated cottages several miles beyond Ritsem where not a soul would notice a group of tourists traveling by private helicopter. In addition to Zach, Maddie, and Griffin, the team included two armed agents from the security division as well as the pilot. Lars was still camped on the mountain awaiting their arrival.
A knock on the cottage door interrupted Cassie’s battle with her footwear. “I’m almost ready. Just give me a second.” She hobbled over to answer the summons. The scrivener was standing on the porch.
“Don’t rush on my account,” Griffin said. “Maddie is still discussing strategy with our armed escort. I thought I might...” He hesitated a moment. “I wanted to speak to you privately before we go.”
“Oh sure, no problem.” She hopped back to the bed and sat down to tie her other lace.
The cottage was tiny, consisting of little more than sleeping quarters and a bath. Cassie was sharing the space with Maddie while the men doubled up in two other units.
After the pythia put the finishing touches on her boots, she rose and turned around in a circle. “What do you think of my new jacket?” She modeled a thin quilted parka which she’d donned over a wool sweater.
“Very smart.” The scrivener walked over and zipped the collar up to her neck. “As I’ve mentioned before, it’s cold at the top of that mountain.”
“You don’t need to remind me.” She mimicked a shiver. “So, what did you want to talk about?”
Griffin blanched at her question. “Um, let’s sit down, shall we?”
Since there were no chairs, they took seats on the bed.
“You do realize this plan is utter madness,” he began in a low voice.
“We’ve done crazier things,” she countered.
“Y
es, by accident, but never by design. And far too much of it rests on your shoulders.” Griffin regarded her with concern. “You’ll be the one to thwart Metcalf’s destiny by laying hands on the Sage Stone first.”
The pythia tilted her head quizzically. “Are you saying you don’t think I’m up to the job?”
“Of course not!” the scrivener objected. “I’ve seen you stand your ground against armed ruffians without batting an eyelash. That’s not it. I just wish...” He stared at the ceiling, searching for the right words. “I just wish you didn’t have to carry this burden alone.”
“I won’t be alone, silly.” She turned his face toward hers. “You’ll be there. So will the rest of the crew.”
“You know that isn’t what I meant,” he rebuked gently. “I wish I could do something more useful than stand by and watch you bait a lunatic.”
“Don’t sell yourself short.” She gave a soft smile. “It’s not nothing—knowing that you’ve got my back.”
“Never doubt it.” His tone was solemn. “But there is a very real chance that none of us will survive this confrontation. What if Maddie is wrong about the diviner’s reaction? What if he responds, not with confusion, but with rage? He’ll most likely vent his initial fury on you as the bearer of bad tidings. Then the bloodbath which our chatelaine hoped to avoid will ensue.”
“Worst pep talk ever,” Cassie said archly.
“I didn’t come here to offer a pep talk.” Griffin reached out to take her hands. “There’s something else I need to say to you.”
She registered puzzlement. “Sure. You can tell me anything. What is it?”
“Honestly, I never thought it would come to this.” He took a deep breath. “I speciously assumed that matters would resolve themselves in due course. Advancing at that glacial pace, in all probability my secret misery would have killed me first, much like the Spartan boy with the fox hidden beneath his cloak.”
“Huh?”
“I’m babbling.” The scrivener laughed self-consciously. “I can hear myself spouting drivel, and yet I can’t help it. The great Doctor Samuel Johnson once said that when a man knows he’s about to be hanged, it concentrates his mind wonderfully. Sadly, that remark doesn’t seem to apply in this instance because I’m still rambling and—”
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