Ray shrugged. “I think that Ralph was one lucky tiger-lover.”
Barnett sat back in his chair, nodding. “Yes. But doesn’t it strike you that someone else in that scenario was fairly blessed in the luck department?”
“John Fortune,” Ray said. He knew what the odds of drawing an ace were as well as anybody. “Of course.”
“Exactly,” Barnett said, as if Ray just answered the million-dollar question.
Ray shrugged again. He didn’t see the point.
“These are troubling days, Billy,” Barnett said. “Some say,” his voice dropped dramatically, “the End Days.”
Oh shit, Ray thought. It didn’t take Barnett long to drag religion into even the most mundane conversation. Ray himself wasn’t much of a believer in anything. But Barnett could make almost anything sound reasonable when he was orating. After all, he’d been elected President of the United States. Twice.
“But it’s 2003,” Ray said. “If you’re talking about the, uh, millennium, surely that passed—”
Barnett shook his head.
”Actually it’s just around the corner, my boy,” Barnett said. “Time-keeping was not an exact science when the Bible was written two thousand years ago. Records were not precise. The calendar as we know it is a relatively modern invention. Anyway, you’d expect an error of a year or two to crop up over a couple of millennia, wouldn’t you?”
“I suppose,” Ray said, noncommittally. He still had no clue as to what in the Hell this had to do with a kid saving some Vegas magician from his over-grown kitty cat.
Barnett nodded. “Of course. Hell, nobody took notes on the year when they wrote down the Bible. Nobody even cared. Besides—the signs are the important things, and all signs say that Apocalypse is approaching.”
“What signs? Tiger attacks in Vegas?”
Barnett frowned, the twinkle suddenly gone from his baby blue eyes.
“The prophecies, my boy. The continued existence of Israel, the nation whose existence you helped preserve, and don’t think I’ve forgotten that, is but one of them. But let’s not get bogged down in detail now.” Barnett opened the middle draw in his desk. He took out an impressively thick manuscript. “Here. I wrote a book about it. Not intended for everyone of course. Wouldn’t want a panic among the general populace. But give it a study, my boy. You’ll see. It’s all very convincing.” Barnett handed the volume to Ray. It was heavy. “This is strictly for people within my organization, I guess you’d call it.”
Ray looked up from the thick manuscript to Leo Barnett. “Organization?” he asked warily.
“A think-tank I founded after I had the honor of serving as President of this great nation. The Millenarians. We believe that the time of the Apocalypse is at hand.”
“That’s a bad thing, isn’t it?” Ray asked doubtfully.
“Not at all, Billy, not at all.” Barnett explained. “Though many people believe that. Apocalypse means simply ‘unveiling’ or ‘revelation.’ It is the time when the truth will be revealed for all to see. When the Lord Jesus will return to this earth to usher in a thousand years of peace and prosperity for those who believe in his name.”
Ray’s expression was unchanged.
“Well, read my manuscript,” Barnett said. “It explains everything.”
“All right,” Ray said as sincerely as he could.
Barnett frowned.
Apparently, Ray thought, I don’t sound quite as sincere as I think I do.
“We need a man of your talents, Billy,” Barnett said earnestly, turning up the wattage of his charm. “To guard me and, um, other figures important to the Parousia—that’s the founding of Jesus’ kingdom on earth, which will usher in the thousand years of peace and prosperity of the millennium.”
“I thought you said that the End Days were approaching. Doesn’t that mean like, the end of the world?”
“It does,” Barnett said seriously. “But only after the thousand year peace of the Millennium. And only, of course, if we triumph in the upcoming conflict. We have foes, Billy. Powerful foes. Some might say satanically powerful foes.”
Here we go, Ray thought. He knew this just wasn’t going to be a simple little story. “I’m already guarding you,” Ray pointed out. “Exactly who are these others who need guarding?”
“Christ,” Barnett said.
Ray waited a beat, but Barnett added nothing to what Ray initially thought was an uncharacteristic expletive.
“Christ,” Ray repeated. “You mean, Jesus Christ?”
“Jesus Christ,” Barnett confirmed. “The Second Coming of the Son of God is upon us.”
“Well,” Ray asked, “where is he?”
Barnett cleared his throat. “Apparently,” he said, “in Las Vegas.”
“You don’t mean John Fortune?”
Barnett nodded earnestly. “I do. You have to trust me on this, Billy. Years of study have led me to this conclusion. His act of healing this, uh, animal tamer, is only the final indication of his real identity.”
“And you’re sure of this?” Ray asked.
Barnett pursed his lips. “Sure? Well—reasonably. And we’re not the only ones who think so.”
“No?”
Barnett nodded. “There are others who have come to a, well, similar conclusion abut the boy’s importance. But they want to harm him. He has to be protected from them.”
“But—”
“No, Billy,” Barnett shook his head. “If you truly want to serve me—and the Lord—you must go to Vegas, get the boy, and bring him back here where we can protect him from these others.”
“Who are they?” Ray asked.
“The Allumbrados,” Barnett said, almost spitting as he pronounced the name. It sounded fairly sinister to Ray.
“So, you want me to go to Vegas, pick up the boy, and bring him here for safekeeping?” he recapitulated.
Barnett nodded. “Yes.”
Ray suppressed a smile. “If you say the boy needs help, then that’s good enough for me,” he said.
Barnett beamed. “The Lord will reward you,” he said.
I’m so out of here, Ray thought.
♥ ♦ ♣ ♠
New York City: Waldorf-Astoria Parking Garage
The Midnight Angel lurked in a dark alley overlooking the entrance to the Waldorf-Astoria’s underground car park, a troubled expression on her face.
She didn’t care for New York City. It was much too big and loud and fast. It smelled funny and sounded worse. She felt claustrophobic on its busy streets, hemmed in by the towering concrete and steel cliffs. She’d been born in Yazoo City, Mississippi, and though—contrary to her mother’s advice—she’d willfully deserted the town of her birth to seek her fortune in the wider world, she still wasn’t accustomed to many aspects of that world.
She also didn’t much care for skulking. Skulking in shadows didn’t match her sensibilities. She was much too forthright to skulk. There was no room for deception and lies in her make-up, for such were the tools of Satan. But what could she do? The Hand had sent her on a mission where subtlety was necessary. She’d told him that she was not the person for this job, as she found it difficult to blend into even familiar surroundings. At five eleven and a tautly-muscled one forty-five, she was long-legged, wide-hipped, and big-bosomed. If things had been otherwise, she’d have borne many babies and raised them in the way of the Lord. But that life was closed to her. Her body, as suitable for childbearing as it was, was to her ever-lasting shame also cursed with the mark of the wild card. She carried the stain of the alien beast. Her mother had drummed into her early on that she must find another way to serve the Lord. Of course, the Angel was not following the path that her mother had mapped out for her, but her body, curse that it was, was also her blessing. God had burdened her with it, but it was a burden she bore meekly in his service.