The Judas Line

crossed himself.

We’d been found.

Chapter Eighteen

Mike

Can’t say I was too terribly surprised that Morgan kept the ambush from me. Most people think priests are passive, pacifist bead rubbers. Most of the time we are, but in my case I had been a warrior, a man used to blood and death, armpit deep in both.

Moreover, most Americans don’t realize that the Church has a militant order, The Military Corps of the Order of Malta, part of the Sovereign Military Hospitaller Order of St. John of Jerusalem of Rhodes and of Malta (better known as the SMOM or Knights of Malta). The Military Corps of the Order has the official title of Auxiliary Military Corps of the Italian Army.

The Catholic Church may be a peace-loving organization dedicated to the teachings of Christ, but it’s not stupid. Faith is one thing, but I believe God does help those who help themselves.

When I heard the Voice emerge from the CB, its tone mocking and contemptuous, I decided it was time to fight fire with fire.

In the space between our seats rested our duffels, filled with none too fresh clothes and other small essentials. My hand reached for the floor where Morgan threw his weapons and emerged with a.45 ACP. A Kimber, nice, but I prefer the H amp;K. Along with the Kimber I found a Beretta (which I gave to Morgan) and two extra clips for both. In my bag was the manila envelope, which I stuffed in the inside pocket of my Danzinger’s jacket.

“What do you mean?” Morgan asked the Voice. “We’ve already won.”

“Boy, you must think I’m five kinds of stupid to fall for the ‘Oh, I’ve lost the Silver’ routine. Julian had an SS Team deployed in the area ever since the Baphemoloch became aware enough to recognize that the host he was eating carried the Grail, My associate found you near Las Cruces. With the host’s memories, it was child’s play to deduce what you were doing in the southwest, Olivier. This is the last time you will receive this offer; shoot the Holy Roller in the head, give up and rejoin the Family.”

“Understood, sir,” Morgan said through clenched teeth. Rolling down the window, he wrenched the CB off its moorings with one hand and threw it out of the truck. “Damn, his mouth runs like a fucking river. Pardon the profanity.”

“Pardoned.” I said, then, “SS Team?”

“Special Services Team. An elite squad, much like the Israeli commandos, but much, much worse. Basically Dagger Men Special Forces.”

Stomach hitting the floor, I stared out the window for a couple of seconds. “You think he’s lying? It’s what he does, you know.”

His look was bleak, barren of hope. “I don’t think so, Mike. The Patron is a Power and Intelligence like you’ve never encountered. Amp up Stephen Hawking’s brain by a thousand and you might come close. He’s touchy, mean, controlling and unimaginably evil, but he’s no dope. Yeah, I think we’re in big trouble, because he knows we’re going to a church to destroy the Silver.” He shuddered. “Down on the floor should be a small black shaving bag. Get it.”

Black shaving bag. Right … eight by four inches of simulated leather zippered shut. “Okay, now what?”

“Inside there are six metal vials and a small glass jar. Open the jar and smear some of the contents on your forehead and chest. It’ll protect you; then give me one of the vials.”

Outside the window, we passed Redmond, barreling south toward Bend and a team of commandos waiting to kill us. In the bag I found the vials, the small jar and what looked to be several silver cigarette cases. The small jar contained a pinkish-white paste that smelled like charbroiled ugly. Grimacing, I applied the paste and tried not to puke; it smelled so bad. After wiping my hands I handed Morgan one of the six silvery vials, the contents of which he gulped in one swallow.

At my inquiring look he said, “Pennyroyal, Master Wart and Blessed Thistle herb. For that little extra kick, you know.” He grinned like a skull grins, with horrifying knowledge and lost hope. Then the smile faded, replaced by an angry scowl.

“Shit!” he swore suddenly. “Why the hell am I driving to Bend when there’s a Catholic church in Redmond?” He said a word I won’t repeat. “I’m such a damn idiot!”

Noon traffic on the highway was fairly light, but there were still enough cars to cause concern as he yanked the steering wheel hard to the left and spun the truck, tires squealing and smoking, into a one-eighty. I kissed the side window in time to see an old, red Saab hatchback miss us by a hair and rumble off the road into the sandy, scrub-filled flatland. In the side-view mirror, as we sped back north, I saw the driver of the Saab raise a finger in a gesture as old as man.

“Please don’t do that again,” I rasped through clenched teeth. “Please, please, please!”

“No promises, but if it will make you feel better, take a drink from a vial.”

Sounded like good advice, so I did.

If someone had peeled back my skull, exposing my brain, then poured white lighting on the vulnerable gray matter, that wouldn’t even come close to the feeling that coursed through my skull.

Wow.

“A kick in the pants, eh Mike?”

“It’s not my pants that have been kicked.” I shook my head in an effort to chase away a sudden case of double vision.

“I should have planned to stop here first,” Morgan grated after turning onto a residential street. “But noooooooo, I had to think of returning this stupid truck first.” His fist smacked into the steering wheel three or four times, his anger pulsing through the cab like heat waves.

“You’re only human, Morgan.”

“You sure about that?” he snarled.

“Of course I am, you nitwit, now shut up and drive,” I barked out like every Drill Instructor in history-hard, fast and loud. He tried to hide it, but I caught the telltale beginnings of a smile.

Smirking myself, I stared out the windshield as we pulled into a large parking lot. The brick building dominating it looked more like a high-class no-tell motel than a church, but the cross on its peaked roof gave lie to that impression. The sign in front declared it to be the St. Thomas Catholic Church.

Screeching to a halt under the overhang between a pair of pillars and the front doors, we jumped out, scrambling, stumbling, only to find both of the main doors locked.

Undeterred, Morgan shouted a Word and the right-hand door shattered, the pieces flying inward in a shower of deadly splinters.

“I’ll pay for it,” he panted, propelling me into the church and up the nave.

It took a second or two for my eyes to adjust to the gloom and by the time we reached the altar, the dancing spots of light in my eyes had faded somewhat. “What now, Morgan and why a church?”

He led me to the altar. “Because no demon will enter holy ground, and no elemental would dare perpetrate violence in what they call ‘the Creator’s footprint on the earth.’ This is where the Grail is strongest, in the hands of a true believer.” He leaned in and whispered fiercely. “You banished two demons, Mike, and I can tell you see the Grail as it really is; you weren’t fooled for one second. It has no reason to hide from you.” My eyes widened in shock as I realized he was right. It didn’t look like a silver brooch or glass rose; it looked like what it was, a simple cup. He dug out the Silver from the front pocket of his jeans and I decanted the Grail from the purple bag. “We could just dump the coins into the Grail,” he continued. “That might work, but it also might destroy both of them, and I won’t be the person who broke the Holy Grail, man.”

Understandable. “Now what?” A strange, distant thap thap thapping sound came to my ears and we both shared a nervous look as we realized its significance. A helicopter was hovering above us.