be afraid. The Words were not just baleful magic at my disposal, but a power that not only hated the world but hated me as well and would discard me like a candy wrapper when its purpose was served.
Two thousand years earlier the Voice had promised his only son Judah (only in the Greek is he called Judas) that there would be born unto his line the Redeemer, the one who would topple the Lying God from his Throne and set the world to rights. That Redeemer would rule the world and all would be perfect.
Blah, blah, blah.
I knew then, with utter certainty, that it would be the Patron, the Voice-not the Redeemer-who would rule. Just as the Voice had entered Judah all those years ago to rid the world of the Lying God’s son, the Voice would enter the Redeemer, but this time, unlike two thousand years ago, that possession would be permanent.
Perhaps it was the gift of prophesy, or clairvoyance, some prescient notion, but I knew that the Voice would tear the Redeemer’s soul from the moorings of his body and fling it to the farthest corners of the Abyss.
And I knew, without a doubt, with the acquisition of all thirty of the Words, that I would be the Redeemer.
I would be the Anti-Christ.
There are times in your life when you have an ‘oh no!’ moment, usually in a microsecond before something bad happens, like a car crash. You say ‘oh no!’ then
For me, my first ‘oh no!’ moment was when I realized someone was actually trying to kill me my second day in Iraq. A 7.62 mm slug whizzed past my ear at 2,346 feet per second, upsetting my whole outlook on life.
Finding out that Jude had the potential to become one of the greatest evils that had ever walked the earth was my third ‘oh no!’ moment and definitely the worst.
More “oh no!” moments awaited me before our journey’s end.
Time for prayer.
Chapter Fifteen
Jude
“You have that look on your face,” I observed as I finished packing the duffel.
Mike thinks he can look innocent, but his poker face is almost as bad as mine. “What look?”
“The look that says ‘I just found out that my buddy Jude was destined to become Satan’s puppet on earth.’ ”
He sighed, shoulders slumping. “You have to admit, it’s a lot to swallow,” he mumbled, not looking at me.
“Yeah, I wasn’t bursting with joy when it first occurred to me, Mike. Believe me, it isn’t easy to cope when all you believed has been stripped away in an instant. At least you’ve had the benefit of a couple of days of prep, man.”
He grabbed the keys to our beater truck from the side table. “Still, Jude, it’s a load, a big load, to handle. I feel like I should hate and revile you, but I still love you. Despite all that I have learned.” Tears clogged his throat and I knew a conflict of Catholic dogma and personal feelings raged within him.
So I did the only thing I could think of, the only thing I could do. I grabbed him in a big bear hug and held on as if he was my only port in a storm.
For a moment or two he resisted, his big shoulders tense, hard as basalt, but slowly he melted in my grasp and hugged back. Laughter began to rack his body, hitching the big muscles of his back and stomach, an explosion of ironic mirth that leapt from him to me until we both stood shaking in each other’s embrace.
“A priest and the Anti-Christ walk into a bar …” I began.
Mike disengaged, wiping his eyes, and punched me lightly in the gut. “You’re right, it sounds like a bad joke. Humor from the Apocalypse.” He held a hand up, dangling the truck keys from a finger. “Come on, let’s go.”
That day we arrived in Denver, where I had hidden another spooker buried deep in the earth in a vacant lot I owned on Colfax Street just west of I-25. This time, instead of summoning an elemental and having a nice confab, I just had Earth bring the box to the surface where I used the molecular knife to cut it open. Halfway through the thread broke and I had to spool more out. At the rate I broke the threads, I guess I had another three hundred years before I needed more.
Inside the box was another thirty thousand dollars. However, the money wasn’t the prize; the false ID was. The previous spooker had a phony ID I’d created in ’97, but it was for Tariq al-Muhammad, which would be a red flag in the post 9/11 world, so I needed a new one in case I came under scrutiny. The Jude Oliver persona was burned and I needed to become someone new.
Say hello to Morgan Heart.
Morgan had a SSN, passport and even an old Colorado driver’s license, as well as a Mastercard and Visa. The cover was flawless, the best money could buy.
“Can I see that?” asked Mike, pointing at the knife.
I handed the cylinder over. “Careful. You’ll slice yourself up a treat if you’re not careful.”
“Been kind of curious about this.” He pushed the button. “Don’t see anything.”
“One molecule thick is far too small for the naked eye, but it’s there.” I smiled as Mike gingerly handled the cylinder.
“What powers it? I imagine it must use a lot of juice, keeping the thread carefully spooled and contained in the magnetic bottle.” Mike handed the knife back.
“It’s surprisingly energy efficient, actually. Runs on two watch batteries and they only need to be changed once a month under normal usage.”
He stood and brushed the dirt of his knees. Instead of his usual black outfit with collar, he had dressed like a lumberjack-blue jeans, red-checked flannel shirt, boots and a brown Gore-Tex jacket. We had plenty money to spare. I could have dressed us in Armani.
“I’m surprised, Mike. You haven’t asked me what’s next.”
“We’re going to get the Grail, I know that,” he said quietly. “Now that I understand what’s at stake, I know we have to see this thing through.”
“Yeah.” I pocketed all the IDs except the driver’s license and stood, leaving the box where it lay. “Just making sure.”
“No worries, Jude.”
“Morgan.”
“What?”
I held up the outdated driver’s license. “It’s Morgan Heart now. My Jude Oliver persona is history now.”
“Morgan Heart?”
“Yeah.”
“Morgan
“You said that already.”
A cheesy smile spread across his face. “That is the lamest alter-ego I’ve ever heard. Sounds like a porn name.”
“It’s what was available.” Grumble grumble. “What do
“I had a life before my calling,
“Laugh it up, Mr. Funny Guy,” I mumbled, flashing a rueful smile. Whatever may come, Mike was still my friend and all was right in the universe.
The laughter wound down like a spring that was slowly losing tension. “Okay, Morgan, where to now?”
“To finish what we started, man.” I stared at the cold gray sky, watching the plumes of my breath billow
