Chapter IV

The sun sat menacingly behind the five, bullet-resistant Suburbans as they tore away from the sizzling black parking lot of the Hotel Americana. The smell of tar was almost overwhelming as it lifted from the road beneath them.

Dimitri’s eyes darted from side to side as he studied his surroundings. His focus moved from the street, to the sidewalk, to the small buildings, taking in everything in front of their entourage. AN attack by some angry fundamentalist might come from any direction . . . at any moment. Security of the Pope was a full-time job. The Security at the hotel had been tense but consistent. There were no attacks so far, and he didn’t intend on letting anything happen as they made their way to the airport. The Pope’s sermon had been short and sweet, and they had left very little time between his parting words and their departure from the Hotel Americana’s back parking area for anything to go awry.

The convoy consisted of five vehicles. Dimitri—the team’s lead officer—was in the lead truck making sure that their path was unobstructed.

At the end of the line of armored trucks was Peter, with a contingent of Swiss Guards. And in the middle, the Pope was being guarded by Andrew and three other guards. The Pope would be safe, or at least, Dimitrit’s team of Swiss Guards and Brazilian police escorts would put of the battle of a lifetime to try and protect him.

Each truck was outfitted with all sorts of clever bomb sensing electronic devices; special armor plating that claimed to protect against all varieties of small-arms fire; thermal imaging and night vision screens that allowed the driver to navigate in total darkness and chaos; and even special homing devices which included a ‘black box’ in case it really got sideways. But none of that mattered if the bad guys were serious enough.

It would be only a small chore to fire rounds of depleted Uranium rounds with special magnesium tips into any of the trucks. The result would be the incineration of most of the occupants. Smaller DU rounds could be used by snipers to take out more specific targets. It would quickly become a hell on earth in a tenth-of-a-second.

If the bad guys shopped around enough they would have no problem locating an SA-7b (Soviet made Surface-to-Air missile, shoulder-fired) or it’s more expensive American cousin the Stinger. The fire and forget technologies of such heat seeking rockets would end the careers of anyone unlucky enough to be in the targeted vehicles during impact.

But Dimitri didn’t allow himself to succumb to speculation. His job was to prevent such atrocities with his constant vigilance and attention to detail. Sometimes it was something as subtle as a blank stare from a guy in the crowd. Perhaps just the fidgeting hands of a man in a small car waiting at the corner of the road. Any little, seemingly insignificant, gesture could be a prelude. So he made it his job, his mission, to know when anything is out of place. Some of the other guards were occasionally frustrated by Dimitri’s need to check, recheck, and check again philosophy. The Pope had often told them, “Do not fear the things beyond our control, simply prepare for them . . . the rest is in God’s hands.”

Well, all that was find and good . . . if you like to leave things up to the big guy in the sky. Dimitri didn’t. He was the kind of man that thought he could cheat nature. Twist fate, so-to-speak.

He subscribed to the theory that the Lord helps those who help themselves.

To him: anyone who wanted to get to the old man had better be sharper than him. He didn’t imagine that such a foe existed. Once, when asked about his thoughts on all of the fancy technology that they had at their fingertips for the protection of the Pope, he had commented, “Give me a driver who will do what I say, a turbo-charged engine, and my G-3 rifle, and I’ll escape the Devil himself.”

Perhaps, if things worked out according to Mavet’ s plans . . . he just might get the chance to prove his theory.

Deegan walked out of the Hotel as soon as the crowd was released from the Auditorium where the Pope had given his short but heartfelt little sermon.

He had noted to himself several times throughout the Vicar’s words that there was tenseness, bordering on anxiety that was delicately interlaced in his words.

His guards looked even more uncomfortable.

Mavet was nearby, he had to be. He could imagine that they security forces would be on a higher state of preparedness due to the frightening number of priests who had recently been put down. But it was more than that. He then considered, while passing in and out of the human traffic, if the Angels had tipped off the Pope. It would, of course, be a violation of the highest magnitude to interfere, but then . . . so was hiring a bounty hunter from Hell to find a runaway Angel. Whatever the truth was, they were acting in a manner that suggests panic. The fear of impending doom is a great motivator.

Two men bumped into Deegan as he rounded a corner, paying no attention in the least. “Suki blyati, corova!” He mumbled in Russian as he watched the two fade into the crowd.

Such blatant disrespect would never happen in Hades. But here, in this place of sheep, the wolves seldom feast upon the commoners. The problem with spiritually unevolved humans is that they don’t understand that there are repercussions to their actions. As he walked down the sidewalk the monkeys scurried by, as if there was some place that absolutely had to be this second. These animals had no idea how close the End of Days was.

If they did . . . bedlam would take the place of peace; chaos would overthrow society. He wondered if they would be so gloss-eyed and glib if they knew how bloody the war between Heaven and Hell was going to become. Would they be so joyous when all the lights had ceased to work? When the electricity was gone?

What about when the sounds of music and cars and technology were suddenly replaced by muted screams and grim echoes? Perhaps such thoughts were not even conceivable to most of them.

A slight smile crossed his otherwise solemn face—one he had recently borrowed from a courteous police officer that he had touched as he was leaving the conference hall. He wondered just how long it would be before he and Mavet would cross paths. It would be an interesting meeting . . . to say the least. He had some questions for the Angel. Deegan then tried to figure which side Mavet would choose when the Great Battle began. It was doubtful that he would be welcomed back into Heaven.

Yet it was hard to imagine him aligning himself with Lucifer and the Fay the Guard, in Hades. As far as the Humans went it was pretty simple. A matter of elementary psychology. The weak and faith-ridden would stand by God; the destitute and angry would align themselves with the Dark Lord; and the others . . . they too would have a choice, a side. But that was another matter. Perhaps Mavet would be able to clear that question up, as well.

Deegan turned, squinting his eyes as the sun poured over his body like hot oil. It was enough to choke him. Hades wasn’t as hot as Rio, he thought to himself. He ran his hands over his face and quickly shifted back to his original features: a rigid jaw, pale skin, cold greenish-blue eyes, and a heart that ceased to beat. Walking quickly across the avenue, dodging the bumper-to-bumper traffic as he did, he considered his options. He’d been less than successful at the Hotel Americana, though he suspected that

Mavet was very close. Perhaps the Angels had sent him on a wild goose chase. There were many things to input into this rather complex equation. He then started to go back over everything he had seen in past few hours.

There was always an answer buried beneath the seemingly meaningless clues that were right in front of him. He had looked at every bellboy, host, cop, guard, civilian, and maid. Mavet inhabited none of them. Was it possible that Mavet had learned how to cloak or conceal the glow that would normally emanate from the eyes of his host? That had crossed his mind, but was probably not the case. Mavet had only had a few earth months down in this plane of reality. As God had given him whatever powers of movement and concealment, it would be safe to assume he put a limit on his ability to avoid detection.

Regardless of God’s unwavering love for the humans, he was no fool.

He was . . . God.

Not a position that is achieved due to ignorance or shortsightedness. One had to consider that God intended for every part of this to occur. He passed through a group of tourists being led by several guides. The telltale sign was the over abundance of cameras dangling from their necks. He gently made his way past them and then got the feeling he was being watched.

Was Mavet playing this game in reverse . . . hunting Deegan?

Surely not, and besides, what would he have to gain? No, this felt different. The Angel Uriel had sent him to Rio, knowing that the renegade Angel was nearby. He doubted that Uriel had played any kind of trickery on him. If you’re an Angel, then the last person you want to piss off is a bounty hunter that made a name for himself by hunting Angels. No, Uriel and Heaven wanted Mavet found. They wanted it like a starving man wants food and water. So much was their desire that they called upon Lucifer to help solve their problem. The situation in Heaven must be quite dire, or so it appeared. Maybe Uriel had sent a few Angels to shadow Deegan. Not a bad idea from their position, even he had to concede. But if he could sense them, then they were not professionals. Were the roles reversed, they would never see it coming.

He gritted his teeth as he turned onto a small, and only slightly less congested street. He walked past several small restaurants, a flower shop, a tanning salon, and a book store which seemed to have a coffee shop attached. He smiled as he noticed a large display for the book ’The DaVinci Code IV.′ People either love religion, or they hate it . . . but they all need it. The truth, he laughed to himself, would scare most of them into a coma.

Two blocks later he found himself staring at a large grey-stoned spire which stood like an odd phallic symbol surrounded by the more conventional brick and concrete buildings. The Church of the Divine soul—or at least that was the rough translation—was small, but pristine. All the small green bushes that bordered the walkway were thick and lush; all the black and grey stones that made up the stairs to the main door were clean and bold in their setting of light brown mortar.

“Never spare any expense,” Deegan said as he walked up the stone path, and up the rough stairs.

A large oak door stood barely open. It wasn’t an inviting image, he noted, and took his time carefully entering the holy place.

He half expected a greeting committee of some kind, or maybe an ambush was more likely, but was met with an empty nave and the smell of those bloody incense. He made his way across several rows of reddish-brown pews and sauntered towards a large painting of the Virgin Mary. He stopped before the painting and looked around to see if anyone was waiting. At any moment somebody should approach him, he figured. He didn’t know exactly how long he would have to wait for . . .

“Excuse me, Sir,” a short man, dressed in a white robe, said softly from a small balcony to Deegan’s right. Their eyes locked, but every other part of the Bounty hunter was prepared for something, anything.

“Where are the Angels?” Deegan said without emotion. His focus returned to the holy mother.

“My friend, they are all around us as we stand in the eyes of—”

“I’m not asking a spiritual question, Padre,” Deegan barked back. He turned his head slightly towards the man, his eyes glancing around the rather depressing oil-painted canvas.

The blood seemed to drain from the father’s face as his small brown eyes took in Deegan’s form.

“Sir, I’m not sure that I can help you.”

“I can, father,” Uriel said as he made his way into the church from some other realm.

Deegan steepled his hands in front of his chest and nodded to the now familiar voice of the Angel.

The priest seemed to sense that he was not welcome during this meeting. He was right. He kind of bowed and backed down a small hallway and quickly scurried away.

Uriel approached Deegan. “You didn’t find him, then?”

Deegan had a quizzical look on his face that appeared forced. “Clearly not,” he said as the shorter Angel approached him slowly. He squinted at the angel. “Did you go to college or were you born with such adept senses? How did you know that I’d come to this particular; church?”

“We had you followed,” Uriel said matter-of-factly, not even trying to conceal their actions.

Deegan nodded slowly, “Don’t trust me . . . is that it? I mean . . . you guys did call us.”

“Just a fail-safe on our part. There is too much riding on this for failure.”

“Clearly,” Deegan snorted as he focused back on the painting.

“What now?”

“You go to Rome . . . to the Vatican.”

“And why is that,” Deegan asked as he turned towards the empty nave as if he were about to give a sermon, “. . . is Mavet going to be there?”

Uriel walked closer, lowering his voice, “Yes, we believe he is.”

“He’s not going to kill the Pope,” Deegan offered as an after thought.

The angel walked a step closer, “Why do you think that, Mr. Prost?”

Deegan narrowed his eyes at the angel.

Still he was being treated like an inferior being, like some cleaning lady who was about to dust mop heaven while the angels laughed and ate. These angels really didn’t know what the Human world was like. They had long ago lost touch. “Look, little guy, the longer we play word games with each other, the farther Mavet will get. If you could catch him then you would have, already. But you can’t. I’m not sure if it’s ignorance or ineptitude, but I suspect a little of both. You guys are too busy playing harps and planning the birth of baby ducks to know what the fuck to do when the shit hits the fan.”

Uriel gritted his pearly white teeth.

The bounty hunter continued, “I, on the other hand, know what a cluster-fuck looks like, and how to deal with animals that leave the farm, unattended. I am smarter than you because I have common sense, and I’m not afraid to get a little bloody. It’s clear by the negligent way in which you people run your operations. So let’s not play stupid games with each other! If you want Mavet then you’re going to have to start talking.” Deegan paused and studied Uriel’s reaction.

Slowly the Angel’s jaw softened. “The problem, if I were to summarize it, is that we are guessing at this.”

“Guessing?” Deegan repeated curiously, “How so?”

Uriel’s hands clenched and loosened and fidgeted like a nervous pre-med student who had never cut on a dead body before . . . staring at a cadaver. He asked himself. “Alright,

“How do I put this into words?” we know that the Pope is not a target. We believe that Mavet is after something else in the Vatican.”

That was certainly a twist.

“What kind of something are we talking about?” Deegan asked as he crossed his arms in front of his chest.

“Information of some kind”

The angel held his hands up before Deegan could respond, “And before you ask me, I don’t know what he is looking for. Perhaps Michael knows. I have some speculations about the matter, but it isn’t really my concern.”

Deegan stood patiently, almost willing Uriel to continue. Uriel acquiesced, “I think he is after the gospels of Jesus . . . in particular, the more secretive of the texts. They are referred to as the ‘works’ by some members of the Vatican.”

“And what, pray tell, do they say that is so important? Don’t you guys have copies of all that stuff? I mean, you wrote it.”

“That’s the joke, really. You see, we didn’t know about the texts until their discovery several earth years back. We are just as curious as anyone else.”

“Just go and take them. What’s the problem?”

“We can’t interfere with the humans on this matter. It violates the order of the universe.”

“But isn’t that what we’re doing right now?” Deegan said accusingly.

“I don’t know,” Uriel said as his eyes searched the ceiling for answers that weren’t there. “It’s all above me. I just do what I’m told. And . . . and I know that this is very important.”

Deegan nodded and then cocked his head to the side a bit, “To be quite frank with you . . . I could care less what the carpenter had to say.” Of course this wasn’t true, but he had to measure the Angel’s reaction.

“Yes, but then, you’re a demon, aren’t you?” Uriel pointed out.

Again, taking the clear ‘Heaven’ position in every matter. What a politician the Angel could be when dedicated.

Deegan shrugged disinterestedly, “We were all demons once. You guys just forgot where you came from and you continued to drink the wine while we sobered up. At any rate, the information is valuable to somebody.”

“Everybody . . . even you, Mr. Prost. Say what you will, but the words of Jesus have a lure that none of us can escape. Part of me wants Mavet to find the texts and expose them, just so that I can gaze upon them myself.” Uriel looked down at the dark tiled floor. He seemed to be almost mumbling something to himself, although it was inaudible, and probably unintelligible even if Deegan could have heard. “I believe that the black market for these texts is quite large. Collectors and historians alike, not to mention the religious factions that would pay anything to obtain the translations, if such translations are even possible.”

The Angel looked up. “It’s all very complicated.”

Deegan smiled devilishly, “Oh, I think it’s clear why you want me at the Vatican. Some enterprising lad has decided to make a little cash on the side. Shame, shame,” he chastised as he pointed his fingers at the Angel.

“First the choir boys, and now this. Where does it stop?”

Uriel ignored his jabs. “Whatever the case is, we think Mavet is out for these texts . . . perhaps even the originals. You see, his original assignment was to, ah, sort out all of the people involved with the black market distribution of such document copies. The list of characters reads like a whose who of evil men. There are all sorts of dirty alliances and partnerships that Mavet was to flush out and . . . eradicate.”

“So Mavet whacks a bunch of opportunistic priests and decides to just continue on ‘cleaning’ the rest of the problem up, himself.” Deegan gave Uriel a suspicious glare, “Why didn’t you just let him go with it? Why not let him paint the whole damn town red?”

“These are not decisions that I could make. I was called on by Michael, and I assume that he was given his orders from the top.” His wide green eyes lifted to the ceiling, and beyond.

“This had the makings of a crusade, you know.”

“We sent you here to see how you worked. To make sure nothing would happen that we couldn’t conceal, or control. You are very astute, a keen observer.”

Deegan shifted almost nervously, “And when, pray tell, did you start to watch me?” The flesh from his earlier adventure in the alley was still digesting within him.

“As soon as you entered the Hotel Americana.” -12-

“So that explains why I could feel the presence of an Angel. Although . . . it felt like Mavet. He’s close.”

“Oh yes,” Uriel affirmed, “he’s close. We’re just not sure of his current position, or motives. Rio is a big city. We know that he was close a couple of days ago. He jumped into at least one security guard, maybe more. But we can only pick up on these jumps after the fact. But then, that’s your job, now, isn’t it?”

Deegan felt a bit better knowing that heaven hadn’t watched him eat the street thug in the alley. Those kinds of desires are often very difficult to explain to Angels. They can be so judgmental. “So . . . now?”

“Now, Mr. Prost, you get a first class ticket to—”

“The Vatican Planes are standing by,” a voice scratched over a tiny microphone in Andrew’s ear. Andrew nodded and tapped the driver’s shoulder. He then turned to the Pope with a stern smile.

“We’re looking good, your Holiness.”

“Thank you Andrew. On, and I hope you’re feeling better now. “

“I’m fine, sir. I don’t know what happened. Just a stomach virus or some bad food. I miss Rome very much. Especially the culinary facets.”

The Pope smiled and then leaned back in his seat.

Soon, they would all be airborne.

And Mavet was so looking forward to a transatlantic flight.