The porpoise swam closer to the light.
Nick took a deep breath—and a few more steps.
Just enough:
The jade pendant hung on a gold chain dangling from a barnacle. Its design was a traditionally entwined dragon and phoenix, but there was nothing else traditional about it. The pendant glowed—with a golden light that cast no physical rays, nor did it glint onto the face of the porpoise clicking joyfully while she remained close at Nick’s side.
He reached out and let the pendant float up under his hand. In order to take hold of it, he’d have to become fully physical—his hand, at least. He wasn’t sure he had the ability or coordination to do that now.
But he wasn’t about to give up, now.
As he released the image of Hope, the pain lessened if only marginally. He slipped his hand into the physical layer, lifted the pendant, closed his fingers around it, and pushed it into his pocket. But the sudden compression in his chest and the saturation of frigid water in his clothes alerted him to a troubling realization: He had not been able to control his entrance into the physical realm.
He couldn’t retreat to the safety of the spiritual layer without losing the pendant. Nor could he swim to physical safety if he remained in his current state. Already the pressure of the watery depths was crushing him. His eyes felt like they were bulging out of his head, his lungs were desperate for air.
He looked over to the porpoise, projected his need for help as best he could.
She swam over and presented her dorsal fin. Nick grabbed it with both hands.
// THANK YOU //
When they finally broke through the surface, the porpoise sent a heavy mist through its blowhole and swam toward shore.
Nick held on like a man on a self-propelled boogie-board.
“I suppose I’m going to have to learn how to swim, one of these days,” he called out.
The porpoise clicked and chattered.
Five minutes later Nick stood on the sandy shore bidding farewell to his aquatic friend. Despite the pains he’d taken, the lingering aches and nausea, the teeth-chattering chill that ran like ice through his drenched body, he felt grateful. And amazed at his good fortune in surviving the plunge and retrieving Hope’s pendant.
He couldn’t wait to see her face when he returned it to her. He fished the smartphone out of his pocket, unaffected by the water because it was phasing out of the physical realm.
An artifact of his final days as an angel.
Just before it vanished he made a note of the time: 6:17 PM.
Less than an hour until the Cabrillo Stadium event.
77
THE AUDITORS COULD BE ANYWHERE. Disguised as humans, invisible to all but those to whom they chose to appear. There was no way Lena could tell where in the stadium they were, but Morloch never failed to deploy them.
The last rays of sunlight painted the sky red. She had once found such conflagrations beautiful, but now the scarlet streaks in the sky were bleeding out a languid death into the tomb of nightfall.
Having discreetly dispatched one of Hartwell’s staff members and taken on her appearance, she stood at the west side of the stadium shading her eyes from the blazing white stadium lights. In just half an hour, some fifteen thousand people would pour into the arena like cattle into the slaughterhouse.
Serena, Dan, Gunther, and Johann joined her. With their black business suits, sunglasses, and expressionless faces, they looked like secret service agents. But they were nothing so trivial. They were Nephilim, strong and proud, and like Lena, ready to change the course of history.
“The packages are in place,” Serena said, her tone as colorless as her features. “Timer’s set. Yuri’s been dealt with. Sniper’s ready.”
“Isn’t this overkill?” Johann said. “Taking out your targets with a sniper rifle, only to have them fried when the nukes go off?”
“Just do your jobs, all right?” Lena gave them a reassuring smile. “Contingency plans are our friend.” A pair of 2.5 kiloton suitcase bombs would more than suffice, but it was all about the spectacle. The bullets were to ensure that Hope Matheson was terminated while people could see it happen, the bombs to impress not only Morloch but his entire command chain. “Any questions?”
None.
“Keep on the lookout for Nikolai. He’s fallen, but we can’t be certain how much of his supernatural powers he still retains.”
Lena watched with pride as they dispersed to their positions. Although none of them possessed the superior intellect for leadership, they were some of the strongest Nephilim she’d found over the years and the most effective at enforcing her will—muscle to her brains. And like her, they could withstand the blast of a nuclear warhead or better yet, slip out of the physical layer into the spiritual.
Lena headed for the secure entrance onto the field. At the gate, a security guard with a walkie-talkie in hand stopped her.
“Ms. Wright?” he said. “I’ve got a group here—DCM Security, they with you?”
“They’re late, go ahead and let them into VIP lounge six,” Lena said in the voice of the dead staff member whose likeness she’d pilfered. “I’ll meet them there.”
Five minutes later, she was unlocking the door of the lounge with Ms. Wright’s magnetized badge and letting in four deeply tanned men in black suits with black ties and dark sunglasses.
“We don’t have much time.” Lena pointed to each of them in turn. “You’re Number One, Number Two…Three…Four.” She then pointed to the cabinet and told Number Three to distribute the in-ear transmitter/receivers. “Which one of you is the sharpshooter?”
Number Four raised his hand.
“Over there.” She nodded toward the closet. Number Four went over and took out a black bag whose contents he dumped onto the coffee table. Four Glock .38s. “Grab one each,” Lena said, then led the sniper over to the window.
On the ground beneath it lay a footlocker. She unlocked it and motioned for him to pick up the Remington 700 bolt-action rifle, a case of rounds, and a pair of binoculars. Then she slid the window open over the vacant section of the stadium all the way to the stage.
“This entire part of the stadium has been cordoned off, for security measures. You’ll keep the lights off and take your shot from here—the duck blind, so to speak. Your target Hope Matheson will be in the front row. She’ll be speaking right after Hartwell. Make sure she doesn’t get far into her speech. Afterwards, you’ll wait here and we’ll facilitate your getaway. Any questions?”
The sniper shook his head.
“The rest of you have seen the photos of the other targets. If any of them try to escape, they’re your priority. Communicate and cover the different sections of the stadium. No one gets out. Number One, are the parking lot exits covered?”
He slid the gun behind his back and faced her.
“All according to Miguel’s orders. We got twenty-five armed and standing by on their cell phones ready to jump. A lot of trouble just to keep people trapped inside the stadium to watch an assassination.”
Lena glided over to the door, then stopped.
“This needs to be a high visibility kill, for a big audience. It all has to be done by seven-thirty, not a second later, understand? The bigger the spectacle the better.” As far as Morloch is concerned. As for Lena, she cared more about the resources promised for accomplishing this mission than the faith of millions that would be shattered as a result.
“What are you?” the sniper said, “some kind of terrorist?”
“Terrorist?” What were terrorists, in the grand scheme of things? Simply means to an end. What Lena and the Nephilim under her command were about to do could not even be mentioned in the same breath. “You think too small.”