to come.” The refrain was echoed by the twenty-four members of the Yahweh’s Private Choir. They were ancient even by the angels’ standards, and were constantly on their faces before the throne, murmuring, “You are worthy, our Lord and God, to receive glory and honor and power, for you created all things, and by your will they were created and have their being.” Michael-Lan gazed at them sympathetically, they had spent their lives yearning for an eternity in Paradise, now they had it, they spent their time yearning for another death. They had wasted their time on Earth, building up their virtues for their afterlife and now they knew the full extent of the way they had squandered their time. That might not be as crude and agonizing a torture as the ones Satan had dreamed up but it was one all the same.
Michael-Lan had once had a choir just like this one. A century ago he had released them from their eternal chanting and now they sang in his nightclub, choosing their own program and relishing the freedom to do so. They were loyal servants, trustworthy as only those released from a nightmare could be.
Michael stopped in the middle of the lamps and knelt down on both knees, prostrating himself and pressing his flawless lips to the cold, dark jade floor. As though sensing intentions, the four Seraphim quieted, and the twenty- four elders’ murmurs died to whispers. From the white throne, the voice of Yahweh thundered: “Michael, my good general, what news do you bring me?”
“Oh nameless one, Lord and God of all, I prostrate myself to your presence. The First Bowl of Wrath is poured, even now the humans who bear the Mark of the Beast sicken and die from its poison. Not less than twenty of my highest servants, ones in whom I espoused a special interest, gave their lives so that your Almighty Will should be fulfilled. They went to their end, singing thy praises and filled with ecstasy at their privilege.”
They were not filled with ecstasy, thought Michael quietly, he’d made sure that the doomed group had been well isolated from his night club and the growing web of influence it gave him. His stocks of ecstasy were limited and he made sure it was distributed carefully. And, they didn’t die singing, they almost certainly died screaming because that was what human weapons did to their victims.
Michael-Lan sneaked a look at Yahweh, poised on his great throne amid the clouds of burning incense. His mind flitted to the possibility of adding some really good grass to the incense but it veered away from the prospect. The risks were too high, the rewards too low. Yahweh had a dreamy expression on his face, contemplating the sacrifice of those who had laid down their lives so that his wishes could be fulfilled. Michael-Lan decided that he needed building up a little before the blow was struck
“And the rest of the humans?”
“They suffer as the elements themselves turn against them. The very winds and waters rage in anger at their defiance of your divine will. Their dead number in the tens of thousands and their weeping drowns out the words of their leaders.”
That did it, Yahweh was transported with delight at the thought of the humans who had defied him being punished. He edged forward on his throne. “And Uriel, does Uriel bring despair into their hearts.”
“Ah yes, Uriel.” Now this was going to be tricky. Very easy to overdo this. Michael warned himself.
There was a long hesitation. “He has obeyed my wishes?” There was an ominous roll in the thunder and the lightning flickered. Still white Michael-Lan thought. We’ll have to change that.
“Would Uriel-Lan, thy sword and spear, do any less? He has killed humans. Some, anyway.”
There was suspicion and doubt in the thunder that rolled around the hall and Michael noted the Seraphim were unobtrusively drifting away. It helped to have six wings, it made motion so much less obvious. “But the human cities are laid waste? Their inhabitants and all that live therein dead, their very souls snuffed from existence?”
Now that was a good question. Michael rolled the question around in his mind. He doubted Uriel actually snuffed out souls, in his mind it was more probable he simply sent them somewhere else. There were, after all, enough places to send them to. “The cities, well, yes. I suppose so. Depends how we define cities I suppose.”
“What do you mean Michael-Lan?” The clouds were gathering ominously, the lightning flickering more strongly as the clouds of incense roiled and flowed.
“Human cities have changed a lot, Oh nameless one, Lord and God of all. They’re quite a bit bigger now but Uriel doesn’t seem to have realized that. He stays in the areas where the settlements are few in number and poorly inhabited. But Uriel-Lan has done his best in the area he stays. I believe he has extinguished a few hundreds of humans.”
That did it. To Michael’s delight, multi-colored lightning bolts flashed and ricocheted off the walls, sending showers of pristine diamond flakes spiraling through the air. The Seraphim gave up any hope of discretion and dived for cover. Thunder crashed, its echoes rolling down the wide, straight boulevards that divided The Eternal City into its mathematically-precise blocks, shaking the great sheaths of semi-precious stone that formed the walls of the palaces glittering in the clear white light. The Ishim scurried down the alabaster streets, the more astute getting the message that Michael-Lan was making another war report. A few, secretly in their minds, half-hiding the thought even from themselves, wondered why Yahweh had started this war if the news upset him so much. Elohim and Malachim looked down upon the lowly Ishim but the crashing of thunder persuaded them that there was, perhaps, purpose in the disorder.
“A few hundred? He has achieved nothing!”
” Oh nameless one, Lord and God of all, Uriel-Lan has done well given there are so few to snuff out in the are that he resides. Why he will not go to richer pastures, I do not know.” Because if he does, the humans will put a cap in his ass thought Michael, but no need to say that The Michael squeezed himself even flatter to the floor because a large chunk of diamond had splintered off the wall and just missed his head. He risked a look up, Yahweh was glaring across the throne room, furious that his sublime delight had been ruined so abruptly. Michael knew from long experience what he was thinking and the word ‘treason figured prominently.
” One Above All Others, he must have good reason. After all, there are none who would dare claim that Uriel- Lan’s loyalty is any less than my own. Surely he is the most devoted of thy servants. Perhaps he needs a little encouragement?”
“Then send him a message that it is my divine will that he enter the realms of our greatest enemies.” Yahweh hesitated for a second. “Who are they by the way?”
Michael thought for a second. It was an interesting question, one that had many answers depending on the interpretation of the words greatest and enemy. He decided that the best possible translation was ‘the ones who stood best chance of killing Uriel-Lan.’ It had to be humans, in the world here in Heaven, a direct assassination attempt would probably fail and regardless of the outcome, all his plans would be revealed. Uriel was Yahweh’s greatest weapon, one that could be turned on his enemies in the Eternal City just as easily as on anybody else. Uriel was too loyal and too deadly to live. Getting rid of him had to be the humans. “The Americans, Oh nameless one, Lord and God of all. They are thy greatest enemy.”
“Then order Uriel to attack their greatest city. Without further delay.”
That’s a message that will get through as “The boss wants you to take out an American city. No hurry, in your own time. Michael-Lan rose and backed out of the throne room, bumping into an Erelim stone-mason as he did so.
“You had to go and do it didn’t you.” The Erelim sounded bitter as he surveyed the chipped and battered walls. “I’d just got the place fixed up after your last report.”
Michael looked sympathetically at him and slipped him a small package of cocaine. Then he slapped the mason on the back. “Look on it as job security,” he said comfortingly as he went on his way to meet with Uriel.
Chapter Eight
Air Crash Investigation Group, Wright-Paterson AFB, Dayton, Ohio, February 2009
“Well, look at that.” It was more the level of bafflement in the speaker’s voice that drew attention than the words themselves.
“What’s the matter Rich?” Gail Claiborne looked up from the X-ray pictures of a wing spar she’d been studying.
“I’ve been listening to the contents of the cockpit voice recorder tapes from Blue-861.” Doctor Rich Arden was using words loosely here. In this case, “listening to” meant hearing the words certainly, but also studying the oscilloscope readings and examining the various tracks the system had recorded. It was a much more complex
