Azrael (33 page)

Trotter doubted it. This angel would not fall alone. The only thing left in doubt was who with. There was a big FBI ambush waiting at the other end of the building. Trotter had sworn that whatever happened, Regina Hudson would not be part of it. Trotter had gotten her into this; he’d get her out.

But there was more than that at stake. Trotter had sworn long ago to fight Cronus, and to help all his brothers and sisters, those who’d been born to be used. Regina was one of them, and she was the key to her mother’s future. The revelations of Petra Hudson could make Cronus too hot to use, but in order to put the message across, Petra Hudson had to have enough interest in life to convince Congress and the Press she didn’t doubt the truth of her own story. The Petra Hudson he’d left a few minutes ago, the one who “should have known better,” could never pull it off.

Trotter wanted Cronus destroyed; he wanted Regina Hudson to live. The world was a lot easier to care about with his Little Bash in it.

He smiled at the thought. The world with his Little Bash in it was worth dying for.

T
HE MAN WITH HIS
back to the door (it had to be Trotter) was smiling.

Roger knew it was a false smile, bravado, designed to upset him. He resolved not to let it.

“Mr. Trotter,” he said. “Stand aside, please.”

“Let’s talk for a minute.”

“Stand aside. I don’t want to hurt Miss Hudson.”

“Damn right, you don’t. The second you do, you are ground round. I promise you that personally.”

“I have the gun, Mr. Trotter. You seem to be unarmed.”

“I don’t have a gun. But I’m about the only government employee in this building who doesn’t. It’s only respect for Miss Hudson that keeps them from killing you now, and that won’t last.”

“You’re talking as if you have a suggestion to make.”

“I do. Take me instead.”

“Why should I?”

“Better for you. Not to brag, or anything, but I’m important. I assume you know why you were sent to kill Smolinski.”

“I know.” It had been one of the things Control insisted on telling him. They feared this Trotter. They were afraid to make him angry. If the Russians had so much respect for him, our own government would probably do anything to keep him safe. Much more, in the perverted way Godless governments had of looking at things, than they would to save an innocent girl. Furthermore, it would allow him to risk the life of a spy, whose soul was undoubtedly a
catalog
of sins, rather than Miss Hudson’s. It looked like a good offer. It looked
too
good.

“All right,” Roger said, “that’s why I should do this. Why should you?”

“What do you mean?”

“You know what I mean. Why are you putting your life in danger?”

“It’s embarrassing,” Trotter said. He sounded apologetic.

Roger had no more time to waste playing games. “If it’s too embarrassing, then, never mind. Move aside.”

“I’m in love with Miss Hudson. I’m not supposed to leave myself open for emotions like that, but I am. I’d do anything to protect her, it’s as corny and as simple as that.”

Miss Hudson said, “Allan.” It was the first time she had spoken since he’d baptized the dead FBI man.

“And love embarrasses you?” Roger said. He would never understand how these men survived such an evil existence.

“It’s against my training,” Trotter said.

“Why should I believe you?”

Anger flashed in Trotter’s eyes. “Show a little Faith, Reverend.”

It was ironic. A man like that reminding Roger to have Faith. He used his faith now, taking a few seconds to think and pray. The Lord gave him a plan.

“Here,” he said, “is what I am willing to do. You will stand aside from the door. Miss Hudson will open the door and stand in the open doorway. You will drop to your hands and knees and align yourself in a straight line with her. Miss Hudson will walk backward across the catwalk. You will crawl. I will follow. I will give Miss Hudson a ten-to fifteen-foot head start. When she reaches the door at the other end of the catwalk, she may go through, and go wherever she likes, and I’ll proceed with your valuable self, Mr. Trotter. Until the far side of the catwalk, if you attempt to do anything but what I tell you, I will shoot Miss Hudson. If she does anything, I’ll shoot you. If anyone else tries to interfere, any of Mr. Rines’s men or anyone else, I’ll shoot you both. Is that clear?”

Now Trotter was thinking. “It’s clear enough,” he said. He did not look happy.

“Do you agree, Mr. Trotter?” Roger demanded.

Trotter’s face was sour. “I wish I’d gotten to know you better. Why didn’t you ring the bell when you dumped Hannah Stein’s body in my hallway? Why’d you dump her there at all?”

“Did you baptize her, too?” Regina Hudson asked.

“Of course he did,” Trotter said. “That’s why everybody’s hair was wet. Mr. Nelson wouldn’t just kill somebody and leave them naked to the powers of hell. What kind of Christian would that be?”

“A very poor one,” Roger said. “She left the house that night specifically to meet me. I was instructing her. She was a good girl. And I left her in your hallway on orders. They wanted to try to tie you up with the police, to distract you until they attained their objective. Apparently, Mrs. Hudson continued to surprise them with her stubbornness, and anyway, the police weren’t interested in you. Now, are we done wasting time? Do you accept my offer?”

“What if I don’t?”

“If you don’t, you stand aside, and I proceed with Miss Hudson. If you refuse to stand aside, I will shoot you dead. Unfortunately, I won’t have the chance to baptize you.”

“I bet that would just break your heart.”

“In spite of your cynicism, Mr. Trotter, it would. I will pray for you and hope some other clergyman can be found to perform the proper rites before your soul is hopelessly lost. Now, for the last time, do you agree?”

By way of an answer, Trotter dropped to his hands and knees. “Do I have to bark?” he asked.

Roger almost smiled in spite of himself. “That won’t be necessary, Mr. Trotter. Miss Hudson, open the door, please. Stand there with your back to the catwalk. Right away, please, or I’ll have to shoot Mr. Trotter.”

“Go ahead, Regina,” Trotter said, “do it.”

H
E ANNOUNCED HE LOVED
her, then put them in the worst imaginable circumstances, worse than waiting to die under the Kirk River. Here she was, walking backward on a solid catwalk high over the pressroom with a madman’s gun aimed at her heart. Every step felt as if it would send her plummeting over the edge of something, so that she would fall the thirty feet or so to the concrete floor below, making a one-point landing on her head, smashing her brain to jelly.

At that, it might be better than letting Nelson kill her, which he assuredly would, as soon as they got to the other end of the catwalk. For all his promises he wasn’t going to let her live, especially now that he had the valuable Mr. Trotter.

And the valuable Mr. Trotter was no help, either, talking to her all the time. “Watch the rivet, Regina, about a third of the way there, Regina, chin up, Regina, remember to run like hell when you get through the door on the other side, Regina.” Where did all this Regina stuff come from? In the last minutes of her life, when this arrogant and enigmatic bastard she’d lost her heart to had finally said he loved her; when she could
use
a little tenderness before this nut killed them both; it would be all right to use the pet name. In fact, it was rapidly becoming her last wish—to hear him call her Bash one more time.

Though Allan was doing all the talking—the only sounds in the whole pressroom were the humming of the motors of the presses on standby (and why weren’t they running? she wondered. It was way past time to roll on
Worldwatch)
and the sound of Allan’s voice—he wasn’t talking exclusively to her. He was keeping quite a flow of comments addressed to the Reverend Mr. Nelson. Evidently, Mr. Nelson was getting sick of it, or maybe stung by it. He began to answer back.

Allan said, “That’s the Old Testament God you work for, right? The one who got mad and slew anybody who crossed him. The New Testament is a little heavier in the Free Will department.”

Nelson mumbled something.

Regina wondered how Allan could calmly put his knees down on the pebbled-metal surface of the catwalk without any trace of pain showing in his voice. “Speak up,” he snapped. “I can’t hear you.”

“The Lord,” Nelson announced, “is moving and working among us this very day.”

“Of course he is, but you’re the best. You’ve got him working for the Russians, the most vicious bunch of sinners in the history of mankind.”

For the first time, Regina saw a look of insanity on Nelson’s face. “You don’t understand the Plan! They were working for me!”

Allan stopped and looked up at Nelson over his shoulder. “For
you,
” he said. “For
you.
My apologies. I wasn’t aware of your promotion.”

“What are you talking about? Keep moving.”

Allan stayed where he was. Regina could see Nelson’s hand tightening on the gun.

“We were talking,” Allan said, “about the Lord working for the Russians. You come back with the announcement that
they’re
working for
you.
Here I was thinking you were simply Azrael, the Angel of Death—”

Nelson’s eyes opened wide.
“How did you know that?”

Allan ignored him. “—but now it turns out you’re God Almighty Himself. If I’d known, I would have worn a cleaner shirt. What are you? The Second Son, or the Second Coming?”

“You mock because you don’t understand. God works through me!

“Bullshit
works through you. You kill because you like to, pal, and you’ve come up with the Azrael stuff because your conscience is a coward and needs an out.”

Regina was looking at the gun. Nelson’s hand was clasped so tightly around it, it trembled, but he didn’t fire it or get it in position. It was as if Allan had struck a high-voltage wire in him.

“In fact, if you didn’t have that goddam gun, I’d get up and bash your eyes shut. Do you hear me?
Bash!
Your
eyes! Shut! Now!”

Just as he said
now,
a bell rang. For a crazy second, she thought it was her brain letting her know Allan’s message for her, that he had been calling her Regina to get her ready to be called Bash when it counted. That he had a plan, and he wanted her eyes shut when it went into effect.

As she squeezed her eyes closed, she realized what the bell was—it was the warning bell before the presses started up. Just as the bell ended, just before the huge machines would roar to life like waking dragons, Regina heard the crack of bone on bone, followed by grunts and a man’s scream. She opened her eyes just in time to see Nelson and Allan go over the railing of the catwalk. Regina opened her mouth to scream. The effort made her lungs hurt, but she could hear nothing in the roar of the presses. Then there was a tearing sound, like a million sails ripping in a hurricane, and the room was filled with a blizzard of torn paper that flew at her, sliced at her. She covered her eyes again, but not before she saw that among the white pieces of flying magazine stock, there were some that were wet, and bright red with blood.

W
HEN THE BELL RANG
, Trotter made his move. He hadn’t been sure he would. It’s one thing to decide to die for something, it’s another to go
do
it. Talking, baiting Nelson, had been his consciousness buying time, begging him to think of something else. There wasn’t anything else. He warned Regina, as well as he could, that the air would soon be filled with nastiness, said the magic “Now” before Nelson got tired of the goading and took advantage of one of the extra chances Trotter kept giving him to shoot them both.

Nelson may have been a maniac, but he was still human. He had senses; he had reflexes. Trotter had known the clanging would start, and could be ready for it. Nelson would
have
to be startled. He’d flinch; he’d look around wildly to see where the sound was coming from. It was the only edge Trotter had.

As soon as the ringing started, Trotter heaved up with his arms, bunched his legs beneath him, and jumped blindly, straight back into the man with the gun. There was a loud noise and a pain in his head, and for a second, Trotter was sure he’d been shot. When his brain kept working, he realized what had happened was that he’d rammed the top of his head into the point of Nelson’s chin. He didn’t know what happened to the gun, and with the noise of the machines, couldn’t know. All he could do was to keep his feet churning against the catwalk, keep driving the man back.

Until they both went over the side. Nelson had hold of him by now—he wasn’t going to go over alone. That was all right. Trotter had figured that was the way it would be. For a few seconds it was like flying, first with an angel, then, when some jolt on the way down broke them apart, solo. Then the floor came up, and there was nothing.

Betrayed,
Roger thought as his back leaned against nothing and his feet came up and his head started down. This
spy,
this Satan, had pushed them over the edge.

The joke would be on Trotter, because he would wake up in Hell, tormented forever. Roger, at last, would share the sweet reward he’d helped so many others to attain, with the Lord he’d served with all his heart, no matter what words the Devil put in the mouths of his servants—

Except.

Except how could this be part of the Plan, how could a Godless killer like Trotter
beat him,
beat Azrael, kill the Angel of Death?

Suppose.

Suppose Trotter was
right,
Roger was just a madman, a—a
killer
no better than Trotter himself, because if he
were
an Angel of the Lord, would he be facing death with these damnable doubts?
My God, my God, why have you forsaken
—

No.

No, because in the jumble of images that rose around him as he fell, he found his Salvation, a rush of wind that hummed like a song, above the roaring of the gross inventions of man, a shimmering whiteness that was no solid shape, a light to guide him home, and as Roger let go of Satan forever, and reached out to meet the whiteness, he knew everything was going to be all right. He was going home.