Tartarus: Kingdom Wars II (19 page)

Following the ceremony, Abdiel approached me. “The professor continues to intercede for you.”

Somehow that didn’t surprise me. “The next time you see him, thank him for me. And tell him I miss him.”

“He has every confidence in you,” Abdiel replied. “I don’t know what he sees in you.”

I gave a half-smile in response. “I never know when you’re joking.”

“You think I’m joking?”

F
ollowing the funeral, Heritage College held a reception to honor the professor. Sue, Jana, and I made an appearance, then went to Jana’s house, where Sue had been living. She didn’t want to be alone.

The girls changed into comfortable clothes, and I removed my tie and coat. We sat and reminisced. Then all of a sudden Sue jumped up. She wanted to go to the professor’s house. Jana and I indulged her. People mourn in different ways.

We followed Sue into the rubble that had once been a house and began sifting aimlessly, looking for anything salvageable. It soon became evident that Sue’s sifting had purpose. It focused on the professor’s study.

“Look for discs, floppy drives, memory sticks—anything that might contain computer files,” she said when we asked what she was looking for.

“Abdiel’s narration?” I asked.

Holding a cabinet door in her hand, Sue straightened up. “That’s why they killed him.”

“Oh, honey, are you sure?” Jana exclaimed. “We don’t know that, do we?”

Sue offered no explanation. She tossed the door aside and continued digging.

“Found something,” Jana said after a while.

She held up a broken piece of plastic with a metal tip. A memory stick with my name on it.

“Do you think we might be able to—” Jana said hopefully.

Sue took the memory stick from her, examined it, and tossed it.

Two hours of rummaging yielded three CDs and a half-dozen floppies. None of them were usable. I also found a photograph of Sue and the professor on a cruise. Both were wearing brightly colored leis and holding a tropical drink with an umbrella.

“A Bible cruise to Ensenada,” Sue told us. “This was taken as we were boarding. It was the last time he smiled the entire cruise. He didn’t take to sailing.”

Eight o’clock that evening, back at Jana’s house, I said good night and drove home. I’d agreed to take Sue to the college the next day to help her clear out the professor’s office. She expressed hope of finding a backup copy of the angel history there.

I had mixed feelings about it. Like Sue, I hoped to find a backup copy of the angel history. I had a couple of chapters the professor had printed out for me, but that was all. What I wasn’t looking forward to was packing up the professor’s personal belongings. Going through the professor’s belongings would take an emotional toll on both of us.

Maybe I’d feel better about doing it in the morning. It had been a long day, and my emotions were depleted, leaving a hollow feeling in my gut. It was going to take time for me to adjust to a world without the professor.

I couldn’t help thinking that had I been there with him, things would have turned out differently. I’d gone head to head with angels before and survived, hadn’t I? I couldn’t help thinking that had I been there to face Semyaza, I would have figured out some way to save the professor.

Reaching into my pocket for the house keys, I noticed that the porch light had gone out. I was tired. Maybe I’d wait until morning to replace the bulb.

Keys in hand, I froze when I realized I wouldn’t be needing them. The front door was ajar. The doorjamb splintered.

I looked around. No one was in the courtyard. I’d seen no one in the parking lot.

Using the tip of the key, I slowly pushed the door open and peered inside. My heart was racing. The only light was what spilled into the room from behind me.

I flipped on the light switch next to the door. Nothing happened. I flipped it repeatedly, as if to goad the lamp into lighting. As my eyes adjusted, I saw the lamp lying on its side on the floor. So was the table upon which it had sat. And the sofa and recliner. Everything in the room had been upended.

Having spent the afternoon stepping over rubble, I felt practiced at it. I cautiously made my way to the kitchen and tried that light switch. The room burst into view. As in the living room, everything not nailed down had been tipped over, including the refrigerator. Its door gaped open and frozen packages of meat and containers and ice cubes splayed across the tiles. I took note of the fact that the ice cubes were half-melted.

With trembling hands I opened my cell phone and dialed 911 and reported the break-in. While waiting for the police I stood in the lighted kitchen, not wanting to venture into the back of the house until they arrived.

When I was closing the phone, I noticed I had messages and remembered that I’d turned the phone off for the funeral. All five recorded messages were from my publisher, each one more frantic than the last.

“Call me,” the final message said. “I don’t care what time it is.” He included his home phone number. I closed the phone and stuck it in my pocket.

The police walked me through the house. They assigned an officer to make a list of what was missing. The big items were all there; the television, stereo, my bicycle. My laptop was missing.

“Work-related?” a female officer asked me.

“Yeah.”

“Any sensitive material? Account numbers?”

“Um—just personal banking records.”

“What company do you work for?”

“I’m a writer. Self-employed.”

“Oh. So nothing anyone could use.”

I’d like to think whoever stole the laptop would read my chapters, recognize the quality of writing, and be tempted to sell the material to a publisher, passing themselves off as the author.

“No,” I said to the officer. “Nothing anyone could use. My backup drive is also missing.”

“Do you keep a copy off site?” she asked.

“Just the backup.”

“Printout copy?”

“Just the backup.”

“You know, sir, you really should have an off-site copy of all your important files. Do you have the serial number of your laptop?”

It took me a while to find it. It was stapled to a receipt in last year’s income tax file. The officer wasn’t optimistic the laptop would be recovered.

My emotions, which had bottomed out before I returned home, went subterranean. It was nearly eleven o’clock—2:00
A.M
. New York time—when I called my New York publisher.

“Grant,” the half-asleep voice said on the other line.

“I was going to wait until morning,” I said.

“No…no…I needed to talk to you before 8:00
A.M
. my time.”

That can’t be good.

“Where are my chapters?” he said.

I scanned the mess that was my condo. “Um—see, here’s the thing—”

“Grant, it’s 2:00
A.M
. Do you have my chapters, or don’t you?”

“I had a break-in,” I explained. “The police just left. Someone stole my laptop.”

Silence. Then, “Did you have a backup?”

“They stole that, too.”

“Hard copy?”

“Look, Paul, I can rewrite the chapters.”

Even as I said it, I felt doubtful. I could write new chapters, but how do you re-create the inspiration? The stolen chapters were the best writing I’d ever done.

I could hear Paul Higgins breathing on the other end of the line and could only wonder what Mrs. Higgins was thinking of me right about now.

“That won’t be necessary, Grant,” Higgins said.

“Paul—Mr. Higgins, I can get the chapters to you. Believe me, it’s some of my best writing, better than—”

“Did someone really break into your house and steal your laptop?” Higgins asked.

“You think I made that up as an excuse?”

“Grant, I’ve worked with writers for thirty years. It wouldn’t be the first time.”

It angered me that he thought I was lying. “I can send you a copy of the police report.”

“No, it’s just as well. Grant, we’re canceling your contract.”

“What? No! Paul—”

“I was going to make the decision in the morning anyway,” Higgins said. “I just thought if you had the book nearly finished—”

“But why?”

There was a rustling as Higgins repositioned himself in bed. “It’s a marketing decision. So much has happened since the assassination. The coming of Neo Jesus. The filing of impeachment papers against President Rossi.”

“Wait…what was that? Rossi is being impeached?”

“What hole have you had your head stuck in all day, Grant? It’s been all over the news. The
Washington Post
broke the story this morning. Rossi has been linked to gambling and the New York mafia.”

“He’ll resign,” I said, more to myself than Higgins.

“Not likely,” Higgins exclaimed. “They’ll find a workaround. Nobody wants Lamott to become president.”

No humans maybe. Semyaza had predicted this scenario while we stood on the deck of the
Midway
and watched Douglas’s assassination. Lamott was the rebel angels’ man. I tried to remember exactly what Semyaza had said. With Lamott as president, in the absence of real leadership, special interest groups will tear the nation apart.

“Anyway, between Rossi and this Neo Jesus creature calling for a worldwide scientific summit—”

“He what?”

“For crying out loud, Grant. Turn on the television.”

“I’ve been at a funeral all day.”

“Sorry. A close friend?”

“Yeah,” I said, surprised at how close the professor was to me.

Higgins swore. “Now I feel like a jerk giving you this news today. But it came down to this, Grant. No one could have foreseen it, but the world has moved on. President Douglas’s assassination is ancient history. Marketing insists they won’t be able to move the books. Maybe we can try it again in twenty or twenty-five years, to coincide with an anniversary of the assassination. So keep your notes.”

“They were on the computer, too,” I said.

My cell phone rang moments after I closed it. It was Jana.

“Grant? Did you know about this summit of scientists in Geneva?”

“Yeah, I—”

“Why didn’t you tell me? I thought we had an agreement. Ostermann has been all over my producer to send him. If I don’t get some kind of interview with Neo Jesus soon—”

“I just found out myself,” I said.

“He’s…he’s there with you right now?”

“From my publisher.”

“Your publisher? What’s he doing calling you in the middle of the night?”

“Canceling my contract.”

“Oh, Grant, I’m so sorry. Are you all right? Sue’s asleep. Do you want me to come over?”

“Thanks, but this wouldn’t be a good time. The place is a mess.”

I figured I’d tell her tomorrow about the break-in. She apologized again and said good night, but not before reminding me that I’d promised to get her an interview with Neo Jesus.

With mattresses on opposite sides of the room and the floor of my bedroom a display for the contents of my bureau, I had plenty to do before I could sleep. But the bedroom would have to wait. If I didn’t get the chicken and meat and frozen dinners back in the freezer, I’d regret it in the morning.

Walking out of the bedroom, my heart nearly leaped out of my chest. I wasn’t alone.

“You should consider hiring a maid.”

Jesus stood in the middle of my living room. Rather, Belial impersonating Jesus.

“Is there a heavenly equivalent to the cowbell?” I asked him.

“To what purpose? If we wore bells, people would know we were here. Oh, a joke. Sarcasm. I’m more of a slapstick humorist myself.”

“So I’ve noticed.”

Belial wandered around freely, glancing into each room. “This was…unnecessary.”

“You know…Semyaza!”

“He doesn’t want Abdiel’s foolishness to become public,” Belial said.

“That’s what this is about?”

I went over to the cabinet where I keep my files. That’s where I’d put the printouts of the angel history. They were gone.

“All this to get a couple of chapters?”

“No. All of this to get to you. He knew where the chapters were.”

Enraged, I picked up the closest object within reach, my own book, and flung it across the room, shattering the lamp on the floor.

Belial sighed sympathetically. “Semyaza has that effect on people…and angels. He will do anything to hurt you. And since he can’t hurt you directly, he’ll hurt those closest to you.”

“The professor.”

“An unnecessary death.”

“Abdiel said Lucifer ordered it.”

Belial laughed. “Abdiel? You don’t know how funny that is. Do you really think Abdiel knows the decisions made in Lucifer’s council? Semyaza alone planned and executed the professor’s death. His purpose was twofold: to prevent the dissemination of the angel narrative, and to hurt you. Mostly, to hurt you.”

If that was his plan, he’d succeeded gloriously. I thought of Sue Ling and Jana, and Christina in Washington. They were in danger for no other reason than that their deaths would injure me.

“And your role in this is what?” I said, trying to remain calm. “Report back to Semyaza and tell him he succeeded?”