into the very dead of night.
“Damn … ,” I breathed.
Church must have been watching the same thing on the news. I heard him sigh.
“Welcome back to the war, Captain.”
Chapter Seven
CNBC: Breaking News Report
December 17, 10:55 A.M. EST
TRANSCRIPT OF THE FINANCIAL NEWS REPORT
In the wake of the devastation in London, the Dow Jones Industrial took a drastic 7.19% dip and there are Wall Street rumors that the White House may suspend trading and close the New York Stock Exchange until the initial panic has subsided. This echoes the events of 9/11 which saw the NYSE closed for several days following a period of losses in the stock market. Airlines and tourism industries are also expected to be affected due to fears of another attack.
In a preliminary statement issued a few minutes ago, SEC chief Mark David Epstein cautioned investors not to engage in a “flight to safety,” reminding everyone that panic produces a decline in financial markets but that the markets typically recover. “While there is certainly reason to be concerned over the events in England and around the world,” he said, “the best course of action in financial terms is inaction.”
Epstein is expected to make a more detailed statement tonight following the President’s address to the nation.
Interlude One
Fair Isle, Scotland
The Shetland Isles
December 17, 6:31 A.M. GMT
Rafael Santoro moved silently through the shadows of the garage. He came up behind Dr. Charles Grey and touched the blade of a knife against the man’s cheek.
“No sound,” murmured Santoro.
The scientist stiffened. Not so much from shock or surprise, but like a man who is suddenly aware that a long-dreaded but inevitable horror has finally come.
Santoro bent close to whisper in the scientist’s ear, “It’s time.”
Grey began to tremble. “Please … God! No … .”
“Yes,” said Santoro. “You know what you have to do. You promised that you would do it.”
Grey started to turn, but Santoro pressed the knife into his flesh. Santoro did not break the skin, but he made sure that Grey could feel the edge, could feel the quiet appetite of the steel. Santoro was an artist of supreme delicacy with a blade. With fast or slow cuts he was able to sculpt a victim into a masterpiece of crimson art. It was one of the many talents that made him so valuable to the Seven Kings, and to his patron, the King of Fear. Fear and the blade were both aspects of Santoro’s personal religion.
“I can’t,” whimpered Grey. “Don’t you understand that? What you ask is impossible.”
“Nothing is impossible if the Goddess wills it to be. That is the nature of faith, yes?”
“‘G-Goddess’ … ?” Grey stammered. “I don’t understand … .”
Santoro leaned forward, rising onto his toes so that his lips were an inch from the back of Grey’s neck. “You told me that you were a man of faith, Dr. Grey. Do you remember? That first day when fortune brought me to you? When I showed you the pictures of those angels.”
“Angels … ?” The pictures that this man had shown him were not of angels, but he understood what Santoro meant. Grey gagged at the thought of such horrors being described as angelic. They were images out of hell itself.
The blade was an icy promise on his flesh. “Are you saying now that you were lying to me? Lying about faith?”
“No! No,” pleaded Grey. “That’s not what I meant … .”
“Then tell me what you meant, Dr. Grey. Tell me that you believe the All is capable of everything. Everything.”
“Y-yes … .”
“Say it,” Santoro growled. He raised the knife from Grey’s cheek until the beveled edge filled his vision.
“Yes,” Grey said hastily. “I believe, God help me, I believe, but—”
With a snarl, Santoro withdrew the knife and with his free hand grabbed Grey’s shoulder and spun him violently around.
“
Grey sputtered with confusion and looked dumbly down at the vicious weapon he held. It had a six-inch double-edged blade and a handle wrapped in red silk thread. It looked as much like a tool of ritual as it did an instrument of destruction.
“Do you know what faith is, Dr. Grey?” Santoro asked quietly. When Grey shook his head, the small man smiled. “Faith is my shield; it is the armor that covers my flesh and soul. I am a man of faith, Dr. Grey. I know that the Goddess protects me. I know that she has forged me into her sword.”
“I … I … ,” was all that Grey could manage.
“If you are a true man of faith, Dr. Grey, then you will believe that the Goddess lives in you.
Grey looked at the weapon in his hand. His face twisted into a mask of horror as if he held a squirming scorpion.
“Do it,” insisted Santoro.
“I—can’t … No …”
“Do it or I will go into the house and find young Mikey and show him the knife. Would you like that, Dr. Grey? Would you like to watch? I will leave you one eye so that you can see it, and I will leave you most of your tongue so that you can scream. You will want to scream.”
Grey suddenly stabbed at the small man. He saw his hand move before he felt his muscles flex, the dagger point glittering as it tore through the shadows toward Santoro’s smiling mouth.
But Santoro was not there.
In the gloom of the garage he became a blur. He pivoted on one foot and shifted so that the stabbing knife pierced only empty air. His hands flashed out, striking and striking and striking, the movements unspeakably fast,
