“Divine fire?” the Prime asked. “You said Angels couldn’t get past my defenses!” And then a cold chill ran up his spine as he thought of his captive. If that thing was loose!
“We’re not sure what her guardian is.” The Demon’s forehead bulged and wrinkled between ram’s horns. Its leathery batwings fluttered. It stank of urine and brimstone. “Burned hundreds of us.”
“And my captive?” the Prime shouted.
“He is imprisoned yet.” The Ally cringed.
“The First-mother?” The Prime’s hands formed rakes.
“We are in pursuit,” the Ally moaned.
What was happening? The Prime had only stepped into his office moments ago from his meeting with Tiny. And now this?
“We have been betrayed.” The creature’s oversized eyes blinked.
“By who?” The Prime glared at the creature.
“Balg’s allies in Heaven have betrayed him!” the Demon yelped. “Angels attack the City, when they had agreed to assist Balg against the Army of the Dead.”
“Nobody told me about allies in Heaven!” The Prime felt the pit of his stomach drop. Betrayal. The Demon’s Assistant, Passport, said nothing about a three-way split. It was supposed to be humans and Demons running the world. What would cause a betrayal now? Unless betrayal had been the plan all along. “What about the deal? We have a deal!”
“Balg struggles to keep his promise. Even now a Demon army has joined with the City Defenders! The Angels are fewer in number and should be repelled.” A wisp of smoke curled out of the creature’s nostrils.
“And you? What kind of an ally are you?” the Prime bellowed.
“Our Union was to help you bind the captive, give you Powers and defend your tower!” the Ally said bitterly.
“Defend the Tower then!” The leader of Westprime spat on the floor. “Find the First-mother!” Don’t panic! The Demons said they could handle the relatively small force of Angels out there. Damn! He would have told the same lie. The Prime was sick of assurances. He hated overconfidence. Time to take charge.
He peered out the windows to the west, watched fiery flying shapes, hurtling up to meet the Angelic threat.
“We can overcome the Angels.” The Demon sniffed and then froze. The Prime watched its head arch back on a long neck. Its eyes disappeared into its skull. Finally it said, “Our seekers have the First-mother’s trail. I must go.”
“Well, get her!” the Prime bellowed as the Ally shimmered, became translucent and disappeared. Steadying himself with thoughts of hate, he marched over to the phone. His Demon organ twitched and squirmed like an eel. Betrayed by the incompetence of superiors! Betrayed by bargains. Betrayed by Powers!
“Get me General Topp!” His voice was sharp iron. A minute passed. He pondered the depths of betrayal. He’d show the two-faced fuckers.
The General picked up the phone. “Yes, Sir!” His tone was as stiff as a salute.
“Topp,” the Prime began. “I want to initiate the Final Solution.”
“Prime, sir.” Topp’s voice cracked. “I understand our troops have engaged the enemy on the southern and western flanks of the City.”
“Yes, General.” He paused looking at the dirt under his fingernails. “So what?”
“Sir, I wondered,” Topp started. “Is it possible that the war can be decided in our favor using conventional means?”
Fucker! “Conventional?” He ground his teeth. Ignore the fool. “It is 3 a.m. Topp.” He cleared his throat, holding back a tirade. “I want those birds in the air in one hour and fifteen minutes.”
“But sir!” Topp’s voice broke.
“But sir what?” the Prime asked, keeping his voice soft.
“I can’t fire on my own people,” Topp blurted. There were a couple of hollow rushing pops, and then a thud. The telephone receiver bumped and squeaked.
“Hello Prime?” a new voice said.
“Hello Carter,” the Prime chortled. Topp’s soft spot just cost him a pair of bullets in the brain. “Good work.”
“Looks like you were right about him,” Carter continued.
“The missiles are ready?” the Prime asked.
“Affirmative,” Carter said. “On your command.”
“A minor change in plan,” the Prime said. “I want you to launch at targets in both “A” and “B” groups in one hour and fifteen minutes.” The leader of Westprime had long ago traded out the duplicate key launch method, and replaced it with loyalty and hidden Demonic assassins.
“And I get to keep Carter’s body,” Carter’s possessing Demon said.
“Drive it in good health.” The Prime was pleased this much of his plan was working. Now the nun! His captive said he had to know the God-wife before him. Sick fuck! The mere thought got his Demon organ rising. Then he’d rule the world.
“In one hour fifteen minutes the missiles launch,” Carter said.
“Unless I say otherwise.” The Prime started laughing and slammed the phone down. Do an end run on me! You’re about to experience the Mother of all betrayals! He would be safe underground when the birds started flying, if he had to go through with it. “I’ll show you fuckers Apocalypse!”
83 – Shootout at Archangel Tower
Driver wanted to walk into the meeting with a big smile on his face. His old man always told him that if you can’t do it with a smile don’t do it. He’d tried to live that way, and had done pretty well up to the last few days. Things were getting stickier by the minute.
He was wearing a Kevlar vest and carried clips of ammunition in the pockets of his long black overcoat. He wore bulletproof greaves under his black army pants and a baseball cap of the same color pulled low over his eyes. His long black overcoat concealed empty shoulder holsters that left the Texan feeling naked. He didn’t like Tiny’s plan at all. No more than poor Bloody did.
The dead gunman clomped along in his big black shoes, looking out of place in his tattered brown jacket, corduroys and green shirt. Bloody never wore body armor and hadn’t changed his attitudes in death. His shoulder holster was empty too.
He made a good match for the nun, whose quiet intensity had begun to give Driver a case of nerves. She’d been real helpful getting them into the Tower but got quiet once she looked around a bit. Then she started whispering to herself, and her eyes rarely met his. Instead they scanned around him like she saw invisible flames or something.
“I hope Tiny knows what he’s doing!” he muttered to himself as they strode off the elevator. Two men in dark suits stood in front of an oak-paneled reception desk. The tallest, a black man, was poised on the balls of his feet, arms bent slightly for the quick draw. Driver noticed the bulge under his left armpit, and guessed that it would be one of those small automatic assault guns. The other guy sported a similar bulge, was older, and had a worried look about him.
“I’m Central Operative Morgan, this is Turner,” the black man said. “We will shoot at the first sign of hostility.”
“We’re unarmed and you know it.” Driver pointed a finger remembering the thorough frisking downstairs. Those Operatives were suspicious of the empty holsters, but Driver told them he left the guns in safekeeping so he wouldn’t have to write his congressmen to get them back.
“I like the way you boys do business.” The truth was, Driver wouldn’t have minded working for the Prime. A life on the run got tired.
Operative Morgan looked at the nun. Her eyes opened wide and she smiled. “You’re a strong color.”
Morgan frowned, cast a glance at his partner, and looked back to Cawood. “Sister, welcome back to Archangel Tower.”
“We rescued her.” Driver couldn’t stand a two-way conversation that he wasn’t part of.
“Rescued,” Bloody echoed.
“Fucking zombie,” Turner hissed.
“He only died just a while back so…” Driver glared. “We’re here to get paid.”
“Paid?” Morgan sneered.
“If you’re giving them away you should get out of the nun-trading business,” Driver snarled.
A tremor ran through both Operatives. Morgan gestured to the hall behind them. “After you.”