The old man seemed disgruntled about something. “I’ve had better mornings but nothing that need concern you. You wished to speak to me?”
Bowdeen clasped his hands behind his back to keep them from twitching. “That I did, sir. Your boys have been trained per your instructions, and I wanted to clear accounts and be on my way.”
The old man looked perplexed. “Be on your way?” he repeated.
“Yes, sir. The job’s done.”
The puzzled look didn’t change. “To be sure part of the job is done, Mr. Bowdeen, but not the entire job.”
“Sir?”
“Don’t mistake me. You’ve succeeded admirably in training my chosen security force in the compound, and you will be compensated immediately for services rendered. But there’s much more to do.”
“I... I’m afraid I don’t understand, sir.” Bowdeen could feel a cold chill running up his spine.
The old man scowled in perplexity. “Surely, Mr. Hunt must have told you what the job entailed?”
“No sir, he didn’t though I would like to thank him personally for the opportunity you all have given me.”
“Well, we must set the record straight immediately then, mustn’t we?”
Chopper could only offer a mute nod of assent.
“Please have a seat.” Metcalf claimed one of the folding chairs at the back of the range and indicated that Bowdeen should take the other.
Once again, the mercenary mutely obliged.
“When I engaged you for this assignment, it was to provide weapons training for my entire organization.”
“Yes, sir. I’ve done exactly that.”
Metcalf gave a thin smile. “I’m afraid you’ve only scratched the surface. You must be aware that the Blessed Nephilim is a global brotherhood with compounds stretching around the world.”
Bowdeen could feel the color draining from his face. “G... global?” he managed to stammer.
“Yes, that’s right.” The old man regarded him with the pitying look of a man trying to explain algebra to a cretin. “Global.”
Chopper was grasping at straws now. “But, sir, that’s a mighty big order.”
Metcalf sighed expressively. “You agreed to provide training for my entire concern. Considering the enormous sum of money that I will be paying for your services, I’m at a loss to understand your objection. Are you disturbed at the thought of becoming a very rich man?”
Bowdeen racked his brain for a good pretext to quit, but there wasn’t any easy way out of this. He’d made a deal. An incredibly lucrative deal that he’d be a fool to back out of. More than that, he couldn’t point to a single logical reason for not upholding his end of the bargain—just a gnawing sensation in the pit of his gut. That was all. He commanded his gut to keep still. He was a professional, and he had a reputation to maintain. He couldn’t have word getting around that he was a quitter. “Sir, can I ask why you need all these boys to receive such extensive military training?”
Metcalf hesitated a second in framing a response. “For our peace of mind, Mr. Bowdeen. Why else? As you may have noticed, the world isn’t a very safe place these days.”
Chopper’s conscience whispered that he had just done his part to make it a little less safe. He ignored the inner voice. “What do you want me to do next, sir?”
The diviner rose to go. “Wait for further orders. I’ll be in touch shortly with your next assignment.”
***
Leroy Hunt pulled up to the entrance to the Nephilim compound out in the sticks where Jesus would’ve lost his sandals if he’d ever had a mind to visit these nut jobs in the first place. Abraham Metcalf’s gun-for-hire had come out here often enough that the sentry in the guard shack waved him through on sight. Hunt waited for the ten-foot iron gates to part. He never could figure out why they had a P with an X through it set right into the middle of each gate. Why not a BN for “Blessed Nephilim” or maybe CA for “Crazy Abe lives here?” There was no accounting for why these loonies did anything. He shrugged off the question and proceeded up the winding gravel road to the cinder block stronghold at the far end. Bracing himself for the sight of one of Abe’s gloomy sons in their funeral suits, he was greeted instead by a pleasant surprise—a pretty little girl barely in her teens.
“Well, darlin’,” he smiled. “Ain’t you a sight for sore eyes.”
The girl glanced sideways and blushed.
“What’s your name, sugar?”
“V... Violet,” she stammered.
Hunt removed his Stetson. He held out his hand. “Pleased to meet you little Miss Violet, though I’m a mite surprised you got such a flowery name. Ain’t all you gals supposed to be called after somebody in the Bible? Like Eunice or Maude or some such?”
Violet gave him a perplexed look and a limp handshake. “This way, sir,” she gestured down one of the long corridors that branched off the front hall.
Hunt followed her. As always, the stillness of the place unnerved him. Their footsteps clacking on the polished stone floor made the only sound. He couldn’t believe anybody still breathing above ground could survive in a place like this. Churchy folk might’ve said it had the odor of sanctity about it. Leroy thought it had more of an antiseptic holier-than-thou stench. The compound would have made a great mausoleum. He decided to wrap up his business and get the hell out of there pronto. Since the hallway was about a mile long, he figured to break up the journey with some chit chat. “They don’t usually send a tiny little gal out to meet one of us outlanders,” he began.
“I’m not a little girl, sir,” Violet corrected him primly. “I’m a married woman with a daughter of my own.”
“The dickens you say!” Leroy exclaimed. “You can’t be more’n twelve or thirteen.”
“I am fourteen.” She gestured for him to follow her down a hallway
