Chapter IV

The air was warm and stagnant in the auditorium of the Hotel Americana.

THE POPE RAMBLED ON but Deegan hardly heard a word. His eyes were furiously studying each and every guard in the room. There was something about one of them that drew his attention. It was the way he moved. This guard was carrying himself differently than the others. The other guards were stiff and almost paranoid in their movements. As if their suits were a couple of sizes too small. This other guy, standing back and to the right of the Pope, was relaxed and calm. Not a care in the world.

Deegan didn’t have to lean forward or squint; his vision was perfect and clear.

His senses were so acute that he could separate the different sounds that were bouncing around the auditorium and focus in on only what interested him. He could smell a woman’s perfume after she had showered it off the night before. And he could taste the fear in people. He was a hunter. His hunts had been for all sorts of different creatures. He had hunted animals, for food; people, for money; and Angels . . . for glory. He was hunting an Angel now, but this was a different breed. You see, simply finding Mavet would be difficult, but not the most dangerous part. That would come when they met each other, face to face. Mavet was an Angel of Death, and they’re a different breed.

He also realized that Mavet could be reeling him in, letting Deegan find him so that another example could be made. It was a possibility that he had considered, but then dismissed. It didn’t matter how he found Mavet . . . only that he got it done. After that, who knew what might happen?

“Pyeryemyeshiosh tvoi ochki,” he said under his breath.

Take off your glasses.

His eyes saw the guard turn his head at a slight angle. “Suka blyat!”

Mavet turned his head slightly, looking at all of the people who would give everything they owned just for this Pope to bless them. They all looked so wanting and hungry, as if they had never eaten before. They were a spiritually needy bunch. Humans, what a grand capacity they have for blind faith. Belief in something so far beyond their science, and yet so close to their world.

Mavet knew that this, all of this, was just a way to control their souls.

They’re so scared of what ‘might’ be out there, that they quit asking questions. Never once did he hear a priest tell his congregation about the ‘really’ frightening things that lurked in the darkness. Instead, they go on and on about how Good will triumph over Evil in the end. How the Angels from Heaven will fight against the forces of Hades, conquering the Demons and destroying Lucifer.

Blah, blah, blah . . .

What they never talked about was the true uncertainty of the future. They never told their flock that the end had not been determined. How it is not yet known who will win the Great Battle between Heaven and Hades. These are things that you do not tell your followers because they might start asking questions that you cannot answer; that you don’t want to consider. So instead, they fill the minds of the people with feel-good stories of triumph and morality. Good will save the day, if you give of yourself . . . and of your wallet.

Mavet always like the idea of ’free will.′ It was something that he was currently exercising. A lifetime of service to Heaven had not brought him the validation that he so desperately desired. Part of him still loved God, and Heaven, and everything that his life’s work had helped to protect. But then there was another side of him that wanted to be free. And he wasn’t the only one, either.

No, there were others.

Of the thousands of angels that were cast from Heaven with Lucifer, not all of them found their way to Hades. Many of them disappeared into the shadows. He had heard rumors, whispers really, about these ’Shadow Angels.′

It was as much a myth in Heaven as was ‘Bigfoot’ for the humans.

He slowly turned his head the other way, watching the eyes of all of them, hanging on the Pope’s every word. And suddenly he felt something strange for the first time. Something, not from this world was nearby. This wasn’t an Angel.

This was something much darker, and colder. There was something primal and calculating about this ‘thing.’ He felt himself breathing just a bit faster than he normally would.

He looked out across the room, towards the Pope and the guards that were on either side of him. One of the guards looked over and nodded to him—It was Gregg. He glanced at his watch, knowing that the Pope would soon be finished and it would be time to pack him up and get him out of the hotel, and back on a plane to Rome.

He would head back to Europe, but he needed to find out more about this other being.

He knew that Heaven was looking for him, and that they could get close. But whatever this was, wasn’t from Heaven. He knew Hell when he smelled it.

Suddenly the Pope finished his speech and the people stood from their chairs to applaud him. Several other members of the Catholic Enclave made their way to the front of the auditorium as the engagement came to a formal close. The Swiss Guard wasted no time spiriting the Pope out.

“Carry team, and Cover teams, go, go, go!” Gregg ordered over the radios.

A staccato of Roger that’s answered as the different guards carried out their assigned tasks.

“Transport One and Two, standby to move,” Gregg said as they moved quickly down a service corridor.

“Ready to roll, on One, over.”

“Ready to roll, on Two, over.”

“I have the Book,” Gregg said, Mavet right on his heels. He turned to who he thought was Andrew.

“Stay alert, please.”

He was all business. At this point, they weren’t threatening to pull their weapons. They were moving towards the end of the corridor with weapons drawn, fingers waiting just above the trigger wells for any reason to make contact.

Mavet would have liked to look around and find out who or what was nearby.

Something ugly was here, and he knew that it was coming for him. He knew that they would meet each other at some point.

But not today.

Not here.

As was customary, each guard in front of the Pope formed a line that resembled a train, each man’s hand on the shoulder of the man in front. A subtle squeeze would alert the man that he was ready to go. Mavet squeezed Gregg.

The group of Swiss Guards was being led by Gregg and Andrew. Well, to be correct, the team was led by Mavet, who had jumped into Gregg, and a sickly looking Andrew who was showing the signs of repossessing his body.

Mavet turned to him, Andrew’s face was gaunt and pale. “You’ll be alright?”

“I . . . I’m not . . .” Andrew looked around the narrow corridor trying to figure out what he had missed; where he was; what was going on. He had no immediate answers.

Mavet nodded, “You’ve caught something, Andrew.” He motioned for another guard to help Andrew. Quickly they all prepared to exit the building. Mavet cleared his new throat, “I have the book, and ready to exit structure on Carry Team’s mark.”

“Standby with the book,” the voice said as preparations were being made just outside of the rear entrance to the Hotel. Mavet’s new eyes scanned back and forth, searching the mind of his current host for all of the appropriate commands and procedures. He had been doing this king of thing for hundreds

of years. After a while it became second nature to immerse himself into the

host body as quickly and seamlessly as possible. One of the scariest things about the Angel of Death was that it could be anyone. You’re next-door neighbor, you’re priest, your father. He came in all shapes and sizes. Nobody could hide from Mavet forever.

“All clear, all clear,” the voice barked.

The team sprang into action! As the back door sprang open four guards spread out covering all areas of fire. The vehicles, driven and filled with guards quickly made their way to the waiting team at the entrance. Doors popped open, the ‘Book’ and all accompanying staff were herded into the vehicles, and seconds later the caravan of vehicles was on the move.

Two more sets of identical vehicles, driven by the Brazilian Policia, split off in separate directions to confuse any would-be assassins.

Air support was handled by two small helicopters that flew above and ahead of the security teams as they headed towards the airport. The Pope would be on a plane in less than 30 minutes, if all went as scheduled. Mavet sat next to the Pope as the old man rubbed the tired skin above his nasal bone, trying to relieve the pressure that had built up over a lifetime of service to the Vatican. His illusions had all but disappeared. He knew that his purpose in life was going to be pinned down by the bureaucracy that is the Vatican.

He sat back wondering what was going to come of all of the violence. And he also considered the ramifications of certain religious ‘texts’ being sold on the black market. Oh sure, he knew what was going on. People like to think that John Paul was just some old codger in a white robe. But don’t be fooled by the soft blue eyes or the wrinkles in his skin. Behind that docile exterior was a man of constant calculation. He did not accidentally become the Pope.

But his tact and manner were different than some of his associates. He preferred to sit back, watching and waiting, until he was ready to make the difficult decisions that the title requires. He looked around at the men surrounding him. All of them dedicated to his safety. All of them willing to die in an instant to keep him out of harm’s way. Such dedication. He wondered if he could have done the same were the rolls reversed.

“How are you feeling, sir?” Mavet asked quietly.

The Pope tapped his chest gently, “I’ve got my faith, and I’ve got my health. I’d say I’m doing quite well” He turned his head to face the guard that he thought was Gregg. “How are all of you?”

“Hundred percent, sir,” Mavet responded without hesitation.

“And Andrew,” the Pope said with concern in his eyes, “he will be alright?” “No worries, sir. He just ate some bad fish or something. He’ll be fine.” The Pope nodded and leaned back again. He had a lot to consider during the flight back to Rome. There was going to be a house cleaning. And most likely, it was going to be a messy affair. He believed that there was disease within the walls of the Vatican. Surgery had to be performed, but only after a thorough exploration of the malignant tissue had been completed.

Perhaps, he thought as he breathed deeply, he could flush the darkness from the shadows.

Mavet was close. “Kurova mache,” Deegan cursed to himself. Mavet was with the Pope. Maybe, even, inside of him by now. He could feel his presence weakening as the guards had left with the Pope. They were going back to the Vatican, most likely.

Deegan realized a few things. One—that Mavet was not trying to kill the Pope, yet.

Two—he needed something that only the Pope, or someone near to him might have. It didn’t take much to put it together. Mavet was after the Prophecies. He had to be, it was the only thing that made sense.

Now that he had cast off the emotional leash that God had around his neck, he was free to pursue his own agenda.

Everyone knew who Mavet was. He was practically a legend among the Demons and Dark Angels. Lucifer had pitched him on several occasions, during his various trips to earth. Mavet had always been beyond conversion. Lucifer had offered him a seat right next to him, but the Angel had never even considered it. Lucifer had made his choice, and been cast out of heaven because of it.

Many Angels had followed him.

Thousands, in fact.

Mavet would never join Lucifer, because they didn’t share the same enmity of Heaven. Lucifer left because he wanted to be loved above all others. Mavet left because he no longer felt loved. Deegan could understand both points of view, but he was a realist. He knew that he was just a tool, used by those above him to enact justice. Sure, he considered himself a very fine scalpel, but a tool none the less.

He and Mavet were similar in that aspect.

He left the assembly slowly; taking half steps behind the long line of people that had been filled and renewed with joy and hope. Simple humans.

He made his way out of the Hotel and headed for the first church he could find.

As he made his way past the first group of Policia he saw one of the Valets.

“Disculpa,” Deegan said getting the man’s attention, “onde esta uma igreja?”

The valet could tell that Deegan was a tourist, and smiled. “Go for five blocks,” he pointed down the main street they were on, “and when see McDonalds, make a you left. Then go for two blocks. Big, big, igreja (church).”

“Obrigado,” Deegan said as he gave the guy a firm handshake. Nice face, he thought to himself. He headed towards the street, waving off the taxis. No, he needed a nice walk.

About three blocks into his journey he passed a television repair shop and in the front window was a projection television showing grainy images of a gruesome murder in an alley from earlier this morning. People in Rio were used to violence, but cannibalism was a different kind of thing. It shocked people to know that somebody out there didn’t mind eating humans. In the city known both for its vanity and its depravity, Rio De Janeiro now offered something new to its visitors . . . horror.

Deegan turned a corner and seemed to be a couple of inches taller, his face now tanned as if he had spent long hours out in the sun parking expensive automobiles. He could smell the French fries as he passed McDonalds. The one good things humans have accomplished in the past couple hundred years.

Ten minutes later he was heading up the steps of the Igreja de Santo Jude.

The Church of Saint Jude.

How appropriate, he thought. Saint Jude was the patron saint of lost causes.

He walked into the relative darkness of the church, and there was that small again. He hated that goddamned smell. He made his way past the lobby, and into the main hall. He walked past the pews as he touched the crucifix under his shirt. This was much easier than sneaking around some airport; killing somebody in the bathroom; and taking their documents and ticket, and face, in order to catch a long monotonous flight to Europe. He hated airplane food anyway.

When he made his way to the large Cross at the front of the church some people were looking at him oddly. A priest carefully approached him quietly saying in Portuguese that, “you do not belong here.”

Deegan waved him off, “No shit, padre. I’ll be out of here in a second.” Deegan narrowed his eyes, glaring at the man, “Now fuck off!”

“Mr. Prost,” a familiar voice said from the side. “Come with me, please.”

He and Uriel needed to talk.