Guardian (33 page)

“Right, Israfel. Can't say I'm particularly happy with your recent efforts, or perhaps I should say lack of them. Paul's gone completely off the rails, admittedly not helped by that excrescence, Arcturus, whispering in his ear. However, since I admit you were sensible enough to return and acknowledge your failure, I've sweet-talked the boss. Which means you'll be pleased to know we're going to give you one more chance. Don't blow it this time. And whilst you're not being pulled off the job, I have no choice but to recommend you for some refresher training. Unfortunately, however, that's going to have to wait. We've got an unusual situation developing and I need you back on Earth to salvage something from the Paul affair.”

Tamar, recently appointed as Israfel's immediate superior, eased himself away from the base of the exquisitely coloured and scented fig tree he'd been leaning against and eyed Israfel speculatively. As a senior commander, he knew far more than this recent promotee. His own briefing on the matter had been detailed and comprehensive. The orders were clear. Specially selected Guardians, Israfel amongst them, would shortly be given specific directives and guidelines. Selected, because they were about to be entrusted with an utterly vital role in the world's ‘coming of age'. God had meticulously prepared the strategy, having brought to birth a number of specially equipped babies shortly after what humans called their ‘Second World War' And now had come the announcement that it was time to start involving these young men and women who were to play their parts in the last chapter of human history.

The time known by Christians as ‘the age of grace', a period of time that had so far lasted around 2,000 years, was destined to end in some pretty spectacular fireworks. Sensationally, the events Heaven's citizens found themselves discussing were precisely those foretold as forming the prelude to the final battle of Armageddon. The time when the whole human race would become involved in what was to be both a spiritual battle and a physical battle (whether they liked it or not). A war to end all wars. Together, the combined phases were expected to be a fairly protracted affair, lasting over a period of several decades. But now it seemed, the gun had been fired for the ‘off'. The last and decisive confrontation between Heaven and Hell. And the angels already knew who would win. So now was the time for those designated humans to be offered their roles as ambassadors to the King of kings, assuming they really did want to engage with their destinies. And it was the Guardian angels who were to make themselves visible and known to their charges as a timely encouragement. Thereafter, assuming the right response, each Guardian would go on to befriend and prepare their human for his or her specific task. There was only one problem as far as Tamar was concerned. Was Israfel up to the challenge? He wasn't entirely sure, but there was nothing for it except to get on and brief him. Only time would tell.

Israfel was excited, as well he might be. Until only recently, he'd fully expected to be summarily dismissed from his post with a flea in his ear. Now here he was, not only reprieved, but chosen to pull off an elite Guardianship during the very time when some of the most thrilling and prophesied events in all human history were about to unfold. Invigorated and inspired, he felt that, at the very least, this called for a dramatic entry back onto the case. Which, to his immense satisfaction, had the quite distinct merit of catching Arcturus fairly and squarely on the hop. A pleasant change, he thought, given recent events. However, there was work to do, plans to be devised and results to be hoped for or, if necessary, engineered. All to ensure I not only survived, but would respond to God's overtures. Israfel was beside himself with delight as he realised just how free he was to influence me. An independence no other Guardians had been granted for as long as could be remembered. So, having checked Arcturus wasn't about to do anything foolish, Israfel gave careful eye to his surroundings. He saw immediately that quite a few things had changed since he'd last been on Earth. Particularly in the matter of demons. There were definitely a lot more of them in evidence. Apparently, they'd caught an inkling of what was about to happen, but since they couldn't be sure (and Israfel knew none of Heaven's plans had leaked), they were obviously trying to overplay rather than underplay their hand. Nonchalantly, Israfel sheathed his sword, stepped towards where I was still pacing in circles and, with a pointed stare in Arcturus' general direction, let it be known in no uncertain terms that he was back on the job and not about to be taken by surprise again.

Which did little for Arcturus. He knew he'd humiliated this particular angel and he knew that after losing out over a human charge, they seldom got reappointed. Which wasn't too much of a problem since he'd wanted to have a go at this Guardian ever since the ‘dhow incident'. However, that didn't alter the question or the surprise. What was he doing back here? And why had this particular angel not only returned to Guardian duties, but even been assigned to the same human? Something unusual had to be going on, although he'd been unable to get any useful intelligence out of his disaster of a headquarters for some time. True, he'd become acutely aware that there were far more demons mixing it with humans than was customary, but that in itself was neither extraordinary, nor grounds for any particular alarm. He'd often detected fluctuations in the resources assigned both to Earth and to the battlefields of Heaven and, given the hellish incompetence he was used to, the present increase offered little surprise. But that said, why were these morons so disinclined to speak to him about what they were doing here? Why were the recent arrivals so obviously alarmed, yet without any real (or apparent) awareness of a changed situation? From where he stood, they seemed to be panicking around in ever-decreasing circles, getting nowhere. Not for the first time, he felt his own anxiety begin to mount alongside a conviction that, whatever the circumstances, he could do rather better than the current hierarchy. If only he was given half a chance. But the situation remained a puzzle and Arcturus didn't like puzzles. They had a nasty habit of getting you eradicated. But for now there were more important things to think about. How to take down this annoying angel for a start. Without risking a one-on-one challenge, which might prove fatal to him. Whereupon he realised, not for the first time, that he must be losing his nerve. And it would be tantamount to signing his own death warrant if he were to show any obvious weakness in front of this particular warrior.

At which point he caught Israfel looking pointedly in his direction. And being reasonably confident he only had to wait and I'd do something stupid enough to let him back into my psyche, Arcturus took pleasure in simply ignoring the glare.

As soon as I saw Giuseppe I knew, beyond any doubt, that this was one of those splendidly fortuitous chances, and Ahmed could wait. I had to get the slaver, had to use this unique opportunity to exact revenge for many if not most of the woes of the past months. The sight of him had immediately forced the enormity of my loss to the fore. An emotion never far away, but one that scythed like a dagger through my heart, leaving that treacherous friend, bigoted motivation, to quickly excuse the murderous thoughts now bubbling to the surface. At the same time, assuring me I was also duty bound to avenge the suffering of the many. In fact, merely doing what anyone else in my position would do. Moreover, Giuseppe clearly hadn't clocked me. Probably didn't even realise I was alive, let alone in his immediate neighbourhood. Unless, of course, he'd been talking to Ahmed recently.

In the same instance, I also realised you just didn't get two such opportunities with a man like Giuseppe. Occasions when he was without the immediate protection of his bodyguards, or cronies. So, it had to be now or never – the real problem being, how to strike the first, decisive blow. I had no weapons and I certainly wasn't strong enough to prevail over him in any sort of fist fight. All I had was the element of surprise and the only way to keep that was to stay firmly back out of sight while I dreamed up some sort of realistic plan. In a hurry. As justification, I told myself I owed it not only to me, but also to Roz, to Malcolm and to Jill. Each of them. And with that thought supplanting all else, the genie finally came fully out of the bottle and a homicidal rage began to burn within me, leaving me to cast about in earnest for some way of terminating Giuseppe with prejudice and, hopefully, bringing about the downfall of his slaving organisation. A shift in mind-set that didn't go unnoticed in certain quarters. Hanging back a hundred paces or so, and eyeing each other warily, both Israfel and Arcturus had sensed my mood swing at almost the same time. The one with deep concern, knowing what was likely to happen; the other with all the fiendish delight that only a genuinely psychotic reprobate can enjoy. And that led to an immediate altercation between the two of them, because there was no way Israfel was going to allow Arcturus to influence me further, or drop any more poisonous thoughts into my mind. Nor was he disposed to back away from what was now an inevitable fight.

With the predictable result that both lunged for their main weapon at the same time, each fully conscious of what had happened on the previous occasion they'd come to blows. But even as he advanced, angling for an early thrust into the heart that would finish the matter, Arcturus felt the first scintilla of fear course through his veins. His only real mistake being to let it show in his eyes, because at once an exultant Israfel fell back, dropping his shield arm, feigning clumsiness and enticing Arcturus to follow. Beguiled, but also made reckless by gathering apprehension, Arcturus followed like an amateur, rather than the battle-hardened swordsman of innumerable confrontations with Heaven's warriors. And even as he pressed forward, he realised he had already opened himself to a fatal riposte. Skilled gladiators though they both were, each confident in their ability and each respectful of the other's dexterity, already one of them knew he had the edge. Ever light on his feet, Israfel continued to back-pedal, adding to his opponent's concern by dropping to one knee and feinting to his left, across the front of his shield, whose coruscating light was let loose without warning, causing an already half-mesmerised Arcturus to slightly overcompensate for the parry. Enough to give a skilled swordsman like Israfel the one opening he needed to finish the dual. And strike he did, but to Arcturus' consternation, only deep enough to disable his sword arm, before realigning the blade as fast as lightning, leaving Arcturus to stare down its glittering length, the point held unwaveringly just short of the bridge of his nose.

“So, Arcturus, defeated again. Not as good as you thought really, are you? You know full well I could obliterate you right now and that would ensure your immediate passage into Abbadon's custody. In fact, nothing would give me greater pleasure, but I'm going to spare you for the moment. I have a little job for you, which you will perform, whether you like it or not. And be under no illusion. Any hesitation from you, and Josephus will be advised of what you are planning with regard to his demise. Yes, we do know. Unlike you, we have the ability to read minds and, where necessary, we use that gift. I suspect Josephus would take great satisfaction in putting you to the sword, loathsome creature that you are. That is, shortly before he dispatched you to the place reserved for you and your ilk. A fate Josephus has already promised you, I hear. Yes, we also keep a close watch on Hell's activities. In fact, one way and another, we know everything there is to know about you. Whatever you do now, you're in it up to your eyeballs. Not only are you in trouble with your boss, but you've been tried and found guilty of treachery in Heaven, too. Abbadon's care is almost too good for you. So listen carefully unless you want to join him right now. And be assured, if I have to repeat myself, you certainly will.” With which, Israfel began to outline the exact role Arcturus was to play in the immediate future.

***

Still pacing along the street behind where I supposed Giuseppe to be, I was beginning to get a little frantic. Forced to stay well back, it was a good five minutes since I'd last had clear sight of him, although having realised he was heading for Ahmed's shore-based hideaway, I'd been able to relax a little, believing I could anticipate the general direction. My difficulty was I could think of no possible scenario in which I would come off best. I simply didn't have the weaponry (a knitting needle would be about as useful as a snowball in Hell for this scenario). That is, until I rounded the corner at the next street junction and found myself facing an elderly gentleman being threatened at knifepoint by a much younger male who was not only weaving a fine-bladed flick knife back and forth in front of the old man's terrified eyes but, more importantly, was standing with his back to me.

It wasn't that I saw in this scenario a possible solution to my own problem, it was simply that I responded involuntarily, much as anyone might. Neither pausing to gather myself, nor even to consider the matter, I charged straight into the young assailant's back, knocking him to the ground before he had time to react. The knife skittered close to a nearby drain, but before I could gather myself, the youth had regained his feet and scarpered round the corner, as if on some powerful drug. Weakly, I picked up the knife with no intention other than to hand it to the old man, only to have him thank me profusely before himself taking off at high speed around the corner. Bemused, I stood in the middle of the pavement, a long-bladed and vicious-looking knife balanced in my hand while passers-by, oblivious to what had actually happened, looked somewhat askance as they hurried past, obviously under the erroneous impression that I was the one bent on robbery. Rather than stay there, an object of curiosity and concern to all, I hurriedly folded the blade and slipped the flick knife into my pocket, ready to resume my pursuit of Giuseppe.

I suppose I must have travelled several hundred yards before it dawned on me that I now possessed the very sort of weapon I had been hankering after. A razor-edged knife, easily concealed in the sleeve of my sweat-stained shirt. And round the far corner, nodding sagely, Israfel metamorphosed quietly from an old man back to an invisible angel in the prime of life. Leaving Arcturus to fret and fume with irritation, as he abandoned the persona of a young hooligan, to resume existence as a somewhat older, but now distinctly humiliated ruffian in his own right.

With my immediate difficulty sorted, I started to run, desperate to catch up with Giuseppe before he disappeared or reached the sanctuary of Ahmed's lair. It never occurred to me to be concerned over killing in broad daylight, or plain sight. That it might not be the smartest thing to do simply didn't enter my head. I was utterly intent on reaching my prey and couldn't have cared less about the aftermath. A mood that didn't alter one whit as, once again, I found myself drawing close to Giuseppe. Slowing immediately, I tried to bring my somewhat ragged breathing under control, but for some reason or other it wouldn't submit. Even in my confused state of mind, I knew that approaching someone from behind with feet slapping the pavement and breath heaving in and out in great grasps was likely to draw attention, never mind alert a weasel like Giuseppe. Fortuitously, albeit fairly slowly, my breathing came back under control, although, as I drew ever closer, my heart rate certainly didn't. However, it probably wouldn't have mattered what the circumstances were. I would defy any man who had once fallen victim to Giuseppe to approach him with equanimity, particularly when bent on mayhem. And there I was, yards from his exposed back, holding a concealed knife with intent. At which instant, he turned and looked straight at me, almost as though some sixth sense had warned him he was being stalked. I suppose I could, indeed I should, have retreated there and then, but something foolish within me wouldn't let me do this simple thing. As a result, I kept on walking, straight towards him, with what can only be described as a silly smile beginning to play on my lips.

“Hello, Giuseppe. Recognise me?” I'll give him his due. He didn't hesitate for a second. With one long stride he lunged towards me, left hand reaching for my throat, the other diving into his unbuttoned jacket. Which even I knew meant only one thing. He had a concealed weapon. Probably a pistol. Made suddenly swift by terror, I pressed the knife's catch and blessed all the powers that be that I'd been holding the knife the right way round. The blade flashed up at the same time as I swung my free arm forward, lunging desperately towards his gun hand. And even as I did so, the gun slid out from under his jacket, but the knife tip snagged him just below and to the side of the middle knuckle and since he didn't stop (couldn't stop!), the continued movement drove the blade straight through his hand.

Which did absolutely nothing to halt his headlong advance or palpable aggression. Caught up in the terror of the moment, I almost failed to register his hand releasing my throat, but out of the corner of my eye I did notice him beginning to juggle the weapon from the injured to his newly freed hand, obviously still intent on putting a bullet into my exposed chest. Sheer unadulterated fear made me desperate and lent me the strength to push the barrel to one side, whilst at the same time pulling back frantically on the knife as I sought to drag it out from between the bones of his right hand. The knife must have cleared his hand at about the same time as the gun went off, because within an instant of the blast, I felt the blade driving up between his ribs. A fact that a number of witnesses later assumed and affirmed to be self-defence. A fortuitous assumption I would do nothing to dismiss. All I could be sure of at the time, and am since able to remember clearly, is that the bullet somehow missed me, whilst Giuseppe deflated like a burst balloon. And even though I'd started the whole thing and had the advantage of surprise, the intense shock over yet another killing at such close range held me frozen in its grip, just long enough to be dragged to the ground by his weight, the knife having refused to come out of his chest. I doubt I spent more than a few seconds in this compromising attitude, but by the time I came to my senses and turned to run away, an excited crowd was already gathering. Which served merely to hasten my departure. A retreat made with the same sort of alacrity I'd observed in the young hooligan of recent acquaintance.