Cain (35 page)

The answer was so simple it was almost stunning.

By
not
being at the center of it.

At the thought
, Ben remembered one of Soloman's rules of prey: If you want to go under and stay under, cut connections with everyone. When hunting a rogue operative, never try to follow lines because lines have been severed. Get inside his mind and anticipate. Move ahead of him and wait for him to come to you. Hunt from the trees.

The computer completed the search.

No, nothing.

Ben leaned back and knew in his bones that Archette had sacrificed
Soloman's family to keep Soloman down, to put him off the track because Soloman had been wreaking havoc on something close to Archette’s causes and purposes. He knew it by intuition, by the same instinct that told you when a rifle was centered from the bush.

After a moment he shook his head; this was the doglands, he knew, a place of bones and skulls where ghosts stood in the day, staring with knowledge and secrets.

Tired, Ben stood and felt a shadow upon him. He was ready for this last meeting, but he knew he could say nothing, for he had found nothing to say.

***

Nervously the young priest handed Aveling a phone. "It is Monsignor Balcanza, Father. He calls from Rome."

Aveling raised it and spoke. "My dear Agoni, thank you for returning my call. No, no, Marcelle is not dead. Yes, of course, very fortunate. Did you receive my request? ... I know, very extreme . . ." Aveling chuckled. "I doubt, Agoni, that either you or I shall live long enough for me to repay so great a debt. Yes, it has been a long time
. Good, I knew I could depend upon you, old friend ... I await your call."

Aveling replaced the phone and turned.

"Thank you," he said. "Now leave me, for I have much work to do. I will not be disturbed until the courier arrives from Vatican City. And then, disturb me at once."

***

The somber gathering of wounded bodies and souls inside the darkened New York town house, located beside Central Park, was shrouded in regret. It was totally soundless as no one, not even Marcelle, had spoken a word since early morning.

Maggie, treated for a series of contusions, had been sedated and was sleeping in a second-floor bedroom. But
Soloman, running on adrenaline and amphetamines, sat and stared out the window, gun in hand. He felt as if he were still in battle; his ears echoed painfully with gunfire.

It had been a long time since he'd seen so ferocious a firefight and he
felt disoriented, as overheated emotions devoured and diminished his control. He feared that he was losing an edge of tactical judgment to rage and tried to shut it down, to contain it by cold intellect and will, but his anger was overwhelming.

Marcelle was silent and steady, though his face revealed a fatalistic set
that was almost frightening. Even now the priest was stoically finishing a small breakfast at the kitchen table, his jaw moving angrily.

Mother Superior Mary Francis, who had quickly recovered consciousness from Cain's glancing blow, was utterly still. Fully alert, she sat with her face sternly fixed, staring out a window at the rising sun. Soloman had noticed earlier that she was without her crucifix and rosary
beads, and she told him that she'd given them to Amy.

Amy...

Closing his eyes, Soloman remembered Malo and the remainder of the Delta contingent. The best fighters in the world, they had been massacred like children.

Those on the roof had been killed before they could even fire a shot,
their blood viciously drained to correct Cain's enormous injuries.

Fiercely locking down emotion,
Soloman tried to assess the situation: the Apache still hadn't been located, so they had no direction of travel. Only four days remained until Samhain, the day when Cain intended to sacrifice Amy. And last, to cripple them all, they were out of men and within two hours Ben had an emergency meeting at the White House. If there was any other way to make the situation worse, Soloman couldn't imagine what it could be.

***

As Aveling anticipated, the Monsignor called within the hour. He picked up the phone and listened carefully, evaluating. It did not require long to process the information. He smiled; his old friend had lost none of his skills to penetrate the impenetrable.

"Thank you, Agoni," Aveling said finally. "No, my humble skills must prove sufficient.
No, do not come over. There is no time. Yes, be prepared. We do not know whether this shall end on your continent or mine … Of course, old friend, I shall inform you at once ... Return my encouragement to His Holiness. Good-bye."

Aveling hung up and rose, walked slowly. His hands folded automatically into the pocket of his white habit as he strolled. He paced about the room for a moment, considering what he had heard, when Father Barth entered quie
tly.

"Was it the Monsignor?" he asked.

"Yes."

"And?"

Aveling's lean face tightened, his bald head reflecting a dull light. "Soloman, I believe, cannot be suspect. Nor can the child's mother. And Marcelle stands where he stands. Which leaves three men who could have betrayed them to Cain."

Barth sat at Aveling's quiet words.

"There is a general, the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs," Aveling continued. "There is also a man in the National Security Agency, and a man in the Central Intelligence Agency. The Monsignor was kind enough to investigate further and discovered that Colonel Soloman once attempted to assassinate this CIA agent."

"Then it is obvious, Aveling."

Aveling smiled, wistful. "Certainty is a mistake committed by the young," he said quietly. "We learned such things in the war."

"But it would be for revenge, of course."

"Perhaps." Aveling paused. Then he turned to Barth, startlingly still as he whispered, "Agoni told me that this council is convening at the Central Intelligence Agency's headquarters within the hour."

Barth waited. "Yes? And so?"

"And so the CIA has apparently gained preeminence over this affair." Aveling's aspect was concentrated, cryptic. "Yes, of course ... Is it not better to rule in Hell than serve in Heaven? Is that not our enemy's wisdom? Yes, and so whoever has betrayed Soloman and Marcelle would seek to rule, even as Cain seeks to rule. Or as Hitler sought to rule – the servant is only a reflection of the master."

Aveling's eyes lit up. "These men are professionals so each, if he is in authority, seeks the advantage of home ground. If the general had gained it, then the meeting would be at a military facility. If the NSA had gained it, then it would be held in Washington. But, obviously, this CIA agent has gained control, and so he uses the advantage."

"I follow your logic," Barth replied, eyes narrowing. "But even if this CIA man has indeed betrayed Marcelle and this team, how can we use that knowledge to our advantage?"

Aveling did not seem to hear. "Call back the Monsignor," he said, staring at nothing. "Tell him to discover all that he can about this Central Intelligence agent." Then he tilted his head, abrup
tly mesmerized.

"What is it now, Aveling?"

"Also, yes, tell Agoni to discover if there are families in the northeastern area of this continent that are secretly dedicated to the intergenerational worship of our Adversary."

"
Good God, Aveling
!" Barth rose fully. "How can you advance to such a thought? Who can follow your mind?"

Aveling shook his head. "It is eminen
tly logical," he said, more simply. "It is logic born from faith, but it is logic. Cain is the Adversary, of this we are certain. Therefore Cain wishes to be worshipped. And to be worshipped he must have worshippers."

"But
..." Barth searched for words. "But there could be dozens of such families! How can we know that any of them are involved at all? And, presuming the accuracy of such a presupposition, how can we know which one is associated with this CIA man?"

Aveling's crested forehead hardened in anger. "Remember what you
know!" he said more sternly. "Cain considers himself a prince! The servant is a reflection of the master! Those who serve him will also consider themselves princes!" He calmed down, added, "Follow me in this, old friend. This CIA man—Archette is his name—is dealing with Soloman and Marcelle. Archette, in a word, is a soldier, just as the SS were soldiers. Which means that Archette is the vassal of someone greater, just as the SS were vassals of Hitler. For the true master never dirties his hands neither with soil nor blood. During the war Hitler never killed a single man or woman or child with his own hands and yet he murdered millions. So there must obviously be someone above Archette. Agoni can easily obtain the information we need, and then we will eliminate the lesser from the greater."

Barth lowered his head, injured.

"Forgive me, my friend," Aveling said more patiently. "My emotions prompt me to intellectual sin. But I am, indeed, certain of this: Cain seeks to be equal with the Almighty. But he misunderstands majesty; he always has. And so he considers gold more worthy than clay." He turned away. "Go. Call the Monsignor and tell him we need the information immediately. And I do value your judgment, Father. As well as your criticism. You are wise to counsel ... a temperamental old man."

With a patient nod, Barth said, "There is no sin, my friend. I will do what you request immediately."

***

Grim, Ben stared at Archette.

The CIA Deputy Director chaired the meeting and regarded Ben as if he were already extinct, a dinosaur overdue to return to a dead age. And Ben knew the routine. His cragged face was contemptuous, nothing given away. It would end here, he knew. There was no place left to go.

"I believe the decision is inevitable," Archette began, glancing about the table. "Our security is compromised, we are in jeopardy of revealing our secret weapons program, and so we must terminate the Trinity Failsafe. We have already attracted too much attention and lost too much in this exercise." He took his time to continue. "I feel we should proceed to the next failsafe and hope that investigators can eventually detect Cain's location. The tragedy, but also a reprieve for the world, is that Cain has obtained the child and will now callously murder her to heal the virus in his system. Therefore, HyMar will not become supraepidemic
– a regrettable episode in this disaster, but also a development which will allow us to hunt Cain with more covert and conventional means. We have already lost too much in this high risk adventure."

"Maybe not," Ben said with a frown. It came from nothing he had planned beforehand; frustration said it for him.

Archette wasn't shaken. "Yes, General?"

"Maybe we've gained a little." Ben pushed it. "Maybe we've found out a few things that will make this easier for us." He waited. "You want to talk about it?"

Archette paused. "General," he answered, "the media already has pieces of this experiment. We are in a severely compromised position. I don't believe the situation could become worse." He tested: "Unless, of course, you can explain such a scenario."

"I'll explain it," Ben growled, leaning forward. "Maybe there's somebody in this room who's committed to seeing Cain survive. Maybe there's someone here who wants to see Trinity fail."

"And who would that be, General?"

"You."

Silence.

"I see," said Archette, emotionless. "And can you justify this theory? You have some level of proof? Any proof at all? Or is this simply an understandabl
e anger born from your symbiotic relationship with Soloman?" He stared. "General, please understand me. I know how you must feel. Soloman is in the field fighting something that no one should be forced to fight. But you are allowing your sentiments to color your judgment. And, at this stage, more than any other, we must commit ourselves to reorganization and order. The Trinity Failsafe has failed. We must remain focused and decide alternate means of eliminating this threat."

"I am," Ben said, meeting the gaze. "That's why I'm going head-to-head with you."

Everyone else in the room leaned back, removing themselves from the confrontation; it was an automatic act of self-preservation because whatever was being said could take down carefully crafted careers. Ben saw it and sensed it and it didn't affect him at all. He continued to stare at Archette, adding, "You know, Archette, you really gravel me. I don't think I like you at all."

Unperturbed, Archette replied, "General, we are all under stress. And
stress can sometimes alter judgment and personality. You are a professional soldier. Try to remember yourself as such."

"I have."

"You don't seem to," Archette said solidly. "We are in—"

"I know what we're in." Ben shut him down. "You know what we're
in. And nobody else in this room has a clue." And Ben smiled; the contemptuous smile of a man who was willing to throw thirty years of military service to the wind. He even surprised himself.

"You thought nobody would ever figure it out, didn't you?" Ben continued. "But you made a mistake, son. You covered your tracks too good. And no track at all is the best place to start sometimes. Yeah, you were too careful. Too smart by half."