“And everyone thinks he learned an entire language overnight? No one is suspicious that he may have known English all along and has been feigning ignorance?”
“Have some pancakes, Rabbi,” Race gave the holy man a pat on the back.
“Thank you, General, I will. You used the kashered cast iron skillet, yes? Good. Remember; we must take everything the demon says with two grains of salt. Bub may not be a fallen angel, but he's imitating one, and all of hell's angels lie. Now if someone could pass me a plate maybe?”
Father Thrist came in next, and Race noted that he and Shotzen avoided one another. Thrist waved off on the pancakes and opted for black coffee instead. Dr. Harker was the last to arrive. Race wished her a good morning, and suggested she examine Dr. Belgium after breakfast. Harker grunted acknowledgment, and instead of pancakes she made herself some buttered toast.
Quite a dysfunctional little family, Race thought. It had always been like that, in its many incarnations dating back to 1968. Not like the Army. On the battlefield, men were close-knit with strong bonds. It came from functioning as a unit, rather than as individuals. The dozens of specialists that have lived at Samhain since its inception had never been like that. This motley bunch would last two minutes in combat. Good thing it would never have to be proven.
“If everyone is ready, I'd like to lay down some ground rules,” Race said.
All eyes were on him. He stood up to project better.
“I'm sure we all have things to ask Bub, and everyone will get private time with him, I promise. But the first order of business is to get all of the questions in this book answered. If we go off on tangents, it'll take forever. We need to stay focused. I'm not going to ask you all to zip your lips, but I am asking for the extraneous questions to be kept to the barest minimum. I also ask that we remain united in our opinion. I've done interrogations before, and group numbers give us the psychological advantage. But if there's dissension, Bub could possibly play on that.”
“What is our opinion, General?” Father Thrist asked.
“We haven't formed one yet. But we can't have any in-group bickering in front of Bub. Dr. Belgium, is the video operational?”
“Hmm? Oh, yes yes yes. I just put in a new DVD-R a little bit ago. It’s good for six hours.”
“Good. Remember people, we're going into this treating Bub as a source of information. He's like a gold vein that we are trying to dig up. Personal opinions, preconceptions, whether you think he's the Antichrist or just a nice guy... file it all away. Our object is to get these questions answered.”
“What if we figure out the demon is lying?” Rabbi Shotzen said.
“If Bub appears to be lying, or intentionally evasive, we'll have to regroup and approach the situation differently. But please let me be the judge of that. Any other questions?”
There were none. Race made eye contact with each member of the group, to make sure he was understood on all counts.
“Okay,” he said, grinning broadly. “Let's go rattle the gates of hell.”
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
“The gang’s all heeeeeeere.” Bub grinned his horrible grin.
No one laughed. Andy couldn’t speak for the rest of the group, but he was very much awed by Bub. Not only by the demon’s physical presence—which was substantial—or his apparent powers over the dead, but how quickly he learned. Bub mastered English in just a day, to the point where he was comfortable making jokes. That kind of genius, and all it implied, almost made the linguist speechless.
“We have questions, Bub,” Race said. “Questions we've been waiting a very long time to have answered.”
“You may aaaaaask,” Bub said.
He squatted on his haunches in front of the Plexiglas, to the right of the large blood stain the headless sheep had made the previous day. It had turned brown and begun to flake. Andy tried not to look at it.
Race sat in a chair facing Bub. The rest of the group formed a semicircle behind him. Andy sat next to Sun, the holies were on opposite ends, Dr. Harker sat way in the back, and Dr. Belgium stood, pacing back and forth like he was the one in the cage.
“Let's begin with your background,” Race said. He opened up the old book in his lap but didn't look at it. “You were found buried eighty feet in the ground in the Culebra Cut in Panama, one hundred years ago. How did you get there?”
Bub titled his head slightly and appeared to think about it, his elliptical eyes flicking left, then right.
“I was in a comaaaaaaa. My people thought I was deaaaaaad.”
“Who were your people?”
“The Kanjobalán Mayaaaaaaa. We lived in a city called Coooooopán.”
“Copán is in Honduras,” Andy said, surprising himself by talking—he’d wanted to remain neutral and simply observe. “That's eight hundred miles away from Panama. Why were you buried eight hundred miles from Mayan boundaries?”
“I do not knooooow.”
“How long were you with the Maya?” Race asked.
“Threeeeeee hundred years.
“And before that, you lived where?”
“Many plaaaaaces. Across the waaaaaater.”
“How did you travel from place to place?” Race said.
Bub’s wings unfurled behind him as if they were spring-loaded. They opened with the sound of a belt being snapped.
“I caaaaaan fly.”
“Over the oceans?” Sun asked. “Carrying your capsule?”
“I'm strooooong.” Bub's pectoral muscles twitched and bounced. It reminded Andy of a body builder showing off.
“If you were in all of these places,” Race asked, “why isn't there any record of you?”
Bub grinned his crooked grin and folded his wings behind his back.
“There isssss,” Bub said. “Look at hisssstory. Many deeeeemons.”
“There are more of you?” Race asked.
“Yesssssss.”
“What happened to them?”
“I don't knoooooow.”
“Where did you come from,” Race said, “originally?”
Bub's eyes took on a far away cast.
“From liiiiiiiight,” Bub said. “From light, to darknessssssss.”
“What light?”
“Heavaaaaaaaaan. I was caaaaast out.”
“Cast into hell?” Father Thrist asked, his voice quavering. “Incredible.”
“Yeah, incredible,” Sun repeated. But she didn't sound convinced. Andy wasn’t sure if he was convinced either, but he forced himself to keep an open mind.
“Explain how the world began,” Race said.
“God created everything. He created angels to be messengers between Hiiiiim and maaaaankiiiind.”
“Why were you cast out?” Thrist asked.
“There was a... disagreeeeeeement.”
Rabbi Shotzen made a snorting sound. Andy guessed him to be skeptical as well.
“What about evolution?” Race asked.
“Evolution is like planting seeeeeeeeds. When there was enough growth, God added maaaaaan.”
“Like the garden of Eden,” Thrist said, looking up from his notes.
“What is your name?” Race asked, leaning closer to the Plexiglas. “Your true name?”
Bub seemed to grow. He stood up to his full height, stretched out his talons, swelled up his chest. When he spoke, it was deep and loud.
“I am the Prince of the Poooooower of Air. The Draaaagon of Dawn. Son of the Mooooorning and Bearer of Liiiiight. The naaame most know me by is Luuuuuuuucifer.”