Authors: Jack Cavanaugh
“A lark . . .”
“If I remember correctly, it was Mastema's idea but she wasn't going to do it. Then someone dared her. The whole thing
was a diversion, an amusement. We made wagers as to whether or not you'd find it. I bet you wouldn't. But then, you didn't find it, did you? You had help. That meddlesome Ling girl is the one who found it. I wonder how Mastema is going to settle the bets.”
A diversion. An amusement. A prank. I felt like a chump.
“Don't take it hard, Grant. It got you here, didn't it? That's the important thing.”
“I'm still going to tell the truth once this is all over.”
“Are you? And what is the truth, Grant?”
“That unscrupulous angelic beings have infiltrated world governments to manipulate leaders and alter the course of history to benefit their own evil designs. If it takes the rest of my life, Semyaza, somehow I'm going to get the message out. I'm going to expose you. You keep telling me you've been doing this for millennia. Well, maybe if enough people get wise to you, this millennium will be your last.”
I felt like the mouse that roared, but I was tired of being toyed with.
Semyaza became serious. “Is that what you see, or are you guessing?” he replied.
“That's my conclusion based on research and personal observation.”
“Look at the bridge and tell me what you see.”
What was he up to? I looked. “I see vanity and deceit. I see the future of a nation in the balance.”
“Yes, yes, yes . . . what else do you see?”
Lifting the last of the children into the helicopter, the president gave a thumbs-up signal to the pilot.
“I don't understand,” I said.
Semyaza became exasperated. “You're stating the obvious,” he said. “Yes, the president of the United States will die today. No, he will not be immortalized with Lincoln and JFK as is his
plan. The whole thing will blow up when the designated medical examiner will be delayed at the Los Angeles airport. The local medical examiner is a gung-ho type, a straight arrow. When he discovers the drugs in the president's body, his report will launch an investigation and the whole thing will unravel.”
“You speak as though you know the future.”
“We've been creating the future forâ”
“Yeah . . . yeah . . . I know. For millennia.”
“Vice President Rossi will serve as president for six months, then we'll leak reports of his gambling addiction and his ties to the New York Mafia. He'll resign to avoid impeachment and David Lamott, Speaker of the House, will become president. He's our candidate. We've been moving him into position under the radar. Just when your nation needs strong leadership, you'll have Lamott, a man driven by his insecurities, a man who is so desperate for approval he refuses to make a decision. In the absence of real leadership, special interest groups will tear the nation apart.”
He paused to let the scenario sink in.
“Now, I ask you again,” he said, “when you look at the bridge, what do you see?”
The scene on the bridge hadn't changed. “I don't know what to say,” I replied.
Semyaza cursed. He seemed to think I was being obstinate, but I really didn't know what he expected of me.
Then, he rippled. I don't know how else to explain it. Waves of energy passed over him, through him. It radiated outward. The deck trembled beneath my feet.
The news crew felt it too, but didn't realize Semyaza was causing it. The tech turned to the tie and said, “Feel that? Tremor.”
The tie laughed nervously. He said, “Now all we need is for the sun to turn bloodred and the day will be complete.”
The ripple expanded beyond the edge of the
Midway,
across the bay and toward the bridge, climbing the arch-shaped pillars, spreading across the span and beyond, to the horizon, until the entire canopy of sky had been engulfed. As the ripple spread, it revealed an extra layer to the universe, a layer inhabited by spirit beings.
I swallowed hard at what I saw. A universe atop a universe. And while the beings in my universe were unaware of it, the beings in the spirit world acted and moved as though the two were one.
I saw a sky that was still blue yet overlaying it was a menacing, swirling dark cloud. It looked as though a terrible storm was brewing, only it wasn't a storm. It had a presence. There were legions of them. I could feel their ferocity and my skin prickled and the hairs on my arms and neck quivered. I heard voices. Millions of voices. And I knew who they were.
“Lucifer's army,” I mumbled.
Semyaza looked on with pride.
I felt an ancient dread as they swirled over the bridge, a band of rebel angels who had warred against God before time began, fighting a conflict that had never ended, at least in their minds, now using earth as their battlefield. Their primordial grudge sent a shiver through me.
On the bridge, the second helicopter lifted off with the last load of children and Christina. A blonde woman in a red suit stood out in a military aircraft. She was seated next to an open door.
On the news monitor, Jana continued her report. “With the children safely off the bridge, now the White House staff and Secret Service . . . Oh my! Oh my!”
Just as the helicopter cleared the bridge railing, something shot out of the dark cloud, a streak like a missile's tail fire but without the missile, and hit the engine. The engine coughed,
the chopper lurched. Children screamed as a crew member spilled out the door and fell to his death.
A boy instinctively reached for the crew member when he fell, lost his balance, and would have taken the same path to his demise had Christina not grabbed him. The boy's legs dangled helplessly over the water as she clutched his arm.
“Are you getting that? Are you getting that?” the tech shouted at the cameraman.
The monitor showed that the cameraman was getting it. He'd abandoned Jana for the crippled aircraft the moment it lurched. He captured the crewman's deadly plunge for viewing audiences around the world.
I took an involuntary step toward the bridge as the top of Christina's blond head appeared on the monitor as she leaned out the door fighting to keep a grip on the boy.
I was not alone in wanting to help her.
Two beams of light broke through the swirling dark army. Different from the jagged weapon that had struck the helicopter, these lights were larger and softer, they had intelligence that emanated emotions in stark contrast to the cloud of evil.
“Meddlesome fools,” Semyaza spat.
I found myself praying aloud. “Help her, help her, please, help her,” I cried, urging the angels on.
Streaks of jagged light shot past them. Then one found its mark, hitting one of the angels.
I staggered backward, feeling the blow. How was that possible? In my head I heard the angel cry. My heart felt his pain. Sharp, then lingering. I moaned.
Semyaza winced.
“You felt it, too!” I said. “You feel each other's pain? You feel the very blows you inflict!”
“It is our nature,” he said without emotion. “We choose to ignore it.”
Rubbing my chest, I watched as the injured angel retreated while his partner reached the boy and, taking human shape, cradled him in his arms, lifting him onboard.
“Did you see that?” the tech shouted, watching the monitor. “Did you see the way she pulled him up? That chick must work out.”
“They didn't see him . . . ,” I muttered.
Semyaza didn't hear me. He watched with the grim expression of a field general.
With the boy inside, the helicopter limped toward the USS
Reagan.
The angel hovered beside them.
There was a bolt of light and he was gone, blindsided by a dark force.
The cry of the rescuing angel's sudden death exploded inside of me. I felt diminished, as though a part of me had been ripped out.
Twin jagged bolts shot from the swirling cloud and hit the helicopter engine a second time. It shuddered, belched smoke, then tipped at a crazy angle. Christina tumbled out.
“No!” I shouted.
Jana's voice could be heard on the monitor. “Christina! Oh God . . . Oh God . . . Oh God . . .”
Somehow Christina had managed to grab hold of a safety harness. She dangled over the water as the crippled helicopter jerked and rattled as though it was trying to shake her off. Somehow she managed to hold on, but it didn't appear to matter. The aircraft was losing altitude.
A dark band of rebel angels encircled it. Their maneuver appeared to be twofold: to discourage any further rescue attempts, and to keep the helicopter from landing. Despite the pilot's best effort, they prevented him from making any progress toward the carrier.
“They're doomed,” the tie concluded.
The tech agreed.
“Call them off!” I shouted at Semyaza. “Do you hear me? Let it land!”
The tech and tie stared at me like I was crazy. I didn't care. They didn't understand. They couldn't see what I was seeing.
“Semyaza, I'm begging you . . . let it land!”
With a stony expression, he said, “Every war has its casualties.”
The helicopter coughed again. This time the black smoke from the engines flowed with a steady stream. It was going down.
Then, above it, a hundred streaks of light looking like righteous comets broke through the dark ceiling and engaged the devilish perimeter. A burst of light signaled every blow with explosions popping all around the crippled helicopter. I felt them. Every thrust, every wound, every death. It was as though the battle I was watching had a twin inside me.
I shielded my eyes from the intensity so bright that I could barely see the helicopter. But I could see enough.
A dark spirit took shape and attached itself to Christina, pulling her down, prying her fingers from the strap.
My chest inflated with rage. My hands clenched so hard they hurt. My feet danced for a chance to launch into the fray. All I wanted was to be able to fly to Christina's rescue, sword in hand, if possible, but if not, barehanded. I wanted to get a good grip on just one of them, to rip his . . .
Semyaza stood beside me, smiling. “You would strike, even if you felt the blow?”
I didn't answer. We both knew I would.
The tempest surrounding the helicopter dimmed as it emerged from the turmoil as though it was flying out of a cloud, and as it did, I saw angels.
Supporting the fuselage.
Cradling Christina.
Carrying the crippled aircraft to safety.
Christina dropped into the waiting arms of sailors on the deck of the USS
Ronald Reagan.
A moment later the angels gently set the helicopter down.
The tech and tie let out a whoop of joy.
I swiped at tears.
“That was unfortunate,” Semyaza said.
CHAPTER
29
G
ive that pilot a Distinguished Flying Cross!” the news crew tech shouted, thrusting his fist into the air.
“He made it! He made it! I can't believe he made it!” the tie shouted with him. “There's no way he could have made it, but he did!”
The tech and the tie were jumping up and down like little boys. The cameraman celebrated in his own way by keeping a tight focus on Jana.
On the monitor Jana was wiping tears of relief with one hand as she held the phone with the other. She, too, credited the pilot for his unbelievable flying skill.
Wait until I tell her what really happened.
Shouting into her cell phone, Jana was making her way to the first helicopter, which had landed for another load. The president's staff filed aboard. A Secret Service agent assisted Jana into the belly of the mechanical beast. Once inside, she turned to face the camera and continued reporting.
She said, “Even now with the children safely aboard the USS
Ronald Reagan,
despite intense pressure from the Secret Service, the president insists on being the last man to leave the bridge and that means that, since we have just reached maximum occupancy, he will wait for the next transport.”
As helicopter one lifted off the bridge, President R. Lloyd Douglas turned to the handful of Secret Service agents that were left behind and gave them high fives.
Next to me, Semyaza was unimpressed. He said, “Act Three. Final curtain. Cue the actors.”
On cue, Danny Noonan's FA-18 Hornet dropped out of the dark cloud of Lucifer's army. Once again he had the bridge in his sights. His plane trailed smoke like blood from a wound. Apparently the pursuit planes had gotten in a few licks while they were away.
“I don't believe it!” the cameraman cried.
He was the first to spot Noonan in the background while shooting Jana on the helicopter. He zoomed onto the swiftly approaching FA-18. The jittery picture on the monitor made the threat appear even more ominous.
The pursuit planes were close behind. They riddled Noonan's aircraft with machine-gun fire.
Noonan had run out of time. Rebel angels swooped down on both sides of the Hornet, shielding it from the fire of the pursuit planes. At the same time more rebel angels buffeted the pursuit planes, throwing off their aim.
On the bridge the Secret Service agents saw the incoming fighter. They hustled the president into his limousine, determined to protect him to the end.
“God in heaven, he's coming back!” Jana reported from the helicopter.
“Use your missiles!” the tech shouted to the pursuit planes. “Use your missiles! Blow him outta the air!”
Looking as though they heard him, both pursuit planes fired
their missiles at the same instant that Danny Noonan fired his at the bridge.
Noonan's rockets slammed into the bridge mid-span just as one of the pursuit rockets hit his wing. Limousines and the school bus lifted off the bridge in a fiery ballet as Danny Noonan's wing exploded, spinning his aircraft into the heart of the disintegrating bridge, where an instant later a second, larger ball of fire erupted with such force it shattered windows over a mile away.