Cain (27 page)

A moment.

"What do you think about our chances?"

"What do I think?" The Delta sergeant returned the question, pausing. "I think we're in for a hell of a fight, sir."

***

"You're crazy!" Maggie shouted, glaring at
Soloman. "You think I'm going to let them use my daughter
as
bait
!"

Soloman
raised his hands for calm. He was glad he'd waited for Amy to go to bed before he brought the plan to Maggie; the child couldn't hear a sound in the steel-reinforced bedroom.

Maggie paced violen
tly, a hand held to her forehead as if she absolutely could not believe that he had presented the idea.

"Maggie," he began, "listen to me for a—"

"No!" She pressed a finger against his chest. "No! You listen to
me
! I agreed to work with you to find and kill this thing! And I've done my job! But my daughter isn't part of it! And I'm not going to let her be used as some sort of ...
of
alligator bait thrown into a swamp with a rope around her waist
just so Cain can be lured out of hiding
!"

Soloman
shook his head as she stepped closer, speaking more deliberately. "Just tell me something, Sol," she continued. "How close did Cain come to beating you last time?" She raised two fingers and held them slightly apart. "He came this close, Sol – this close. You only beat him because Malo arrived with the team. If you hadn't been lucky, Cain would have torn you to shreds."

"Maggie, I—"

"What?" She stared. "What were you going to say? That this is the only way to lure Cain out of hiding?" Stoic, Soloman said nothing. "Well, I don't think so!" she continued. "There's got to be a better way than using a six-year-old child to—"

It was enough.

"Maggie!" Soloman grabbed her by the shoulders. "Listen to me! Cain is going to find Amy! He will find her because we can't protect her forever! Do you want her to live in a prison the rest of her life? No! You don't! You want Cain dead and she's the only thing that will bring him out! Listen to me! I can kill him but you've got to go with my plan! You have to go with my plan if you want me to kill him!"

Her face went ice-cold.

Soloman was grim.

After a moment she shook her head, speaking softly. "If you get my daughter killed, Sol, I'll die. I'll
... just die. She's all I've got in this life." She began crying. "She's all I've got ..."

He stared down. "The only way Cain is getting to Amy is over both our dead bodies
."

A long silence, a stare, joined them. Then she relaxed sligh
tly, settling her face into Soloman's chest as he wrapped his arms around her. Gently, she placed a hand on his chest, breathing deeply, settling. And Soloman held her, waiting. When she finally spoke, he could barely hear it.

"I know I created this thing, Sol. I know
... that the guilt is mine. But she's all I've got. She's all I'll ever have."

"There's no guilt, Maggie."
Soloman swayed gently. "You did what they told you to do. It's not your fault."

"It wasn't right," she whispered.

"Just trust me," Soloman leaned over her. "I'm not going to let him get to her. I promise." He waited as the intimate closeness and silence and affection communicated what words never could.

Her breath was warm on his chest.

Peace settled.

"You'll die for this?" she asked.

Gently, he lifted her face.

"I'll die for
you
," he whispered. "And I'll die for Amy."

* * *

CHAPTER 15

Maggie came into the room where Soloman was studying a blueprint of the basilica, waiting for Ben's return. She leaned against the wall, crossed her arms over her chest, and smiled. She had obviously recovered from their earlier confrontation.

"What?" said
Soloman, feeling like he'd been caught doing something he shouldn't. But Maggie only continued to gaze in smiling silence as he repeated it: "What?"

"Amy wants you to put her to bed." She laughed, jade-green eyes gleaming. She was clearly enjoying it. "You want me to tell her that you're too busy?"

Blinking, Soloman looked at the maps but didn't see anything. He was a little amazed at how things were changing and, though he could have controlled the feeling, he was also somehow drawn to it. "No," he said. "I'll do it. But it's been a long time." He tried to remember. "Does she say prayers? What's the routine?"

Maggie laughed again. "She just wants you to put her to bed, Sol. It's not that complicated. Just go and tuck her in."

"Yeah," Soloman said, rising from the table. He walked past Maggie, sensing only the glowing face, the smiling eyes. Then he was at the room where Amy lay in bed, quilts already tucked tight. Uncomfortable, he stood for a moment in the doorway, staring until she silently raised her hand, motioning him to come forward.

Approaching, he tried to have the composure of an adult.

"I thought you might want to say goodnight to me," Amy said quietly.

"Why, of course I did
," Soloman smiled, sitting with casual smoothness and adjusting the quilts, returning by long-unused reflex to another part of himself that had been utterly dead until now.

And in the moment it seemed as if he'd never been in the desert at all, as if he'd been right here through it all. "Thanks for playing Monopoly with me," Amy added, her face serious. "That was nice."

Soloman smiled warmly. "Oh, I had fun, Amy." He was surprisingly comfortable with closeness, leaning on an arm. But he wished he wasn't laden down with weapons. The pistol on his chest felt out of place and intrusive. "We'll do it again," he said. "Maybe tomorrow."

She said nothing for a long time, finally laying a hand on his.

"You know something?" she whispered.

"What?"

"I never had a daddy."

Soloman
didn't know what to say. He held her hand lightly. "Yeah, well, you're gonna be just fine, kiddo," he whispered, compassion compelling him to look her in the eyes no matter his pain.

It would
have been cruel to do any less.

"I'm not going to let anybody hurt you
,” Soloman added. “I'll be here all night. And I'll be here when you wake up in the morning."

Suddenly a tear rolled down her face and she became infinitely, infinitely sad. It was a moment that changed everything.
Soloman leaned forward, gently wiping it from her face. He hovered close.

"Don't worry about it, darlin'," he said softly. "He's not going to get to you. I'll protect you."

"I know," she whispered.

Another tear fell as she closed her eyes.

Soloman’s teeth clenched and before he knew what he was doing he'd lifted her, holding her tight as she cried into his chest, so afraid. Silent, he wrapped his arms around her to comfort her. Then he laid her down, everything slow and natural, both of them comfortable. After a moment she closed her eyes and rolled to the side, relaxing.

And, l
ike that, it was over.

Soloman
sat beside her to let her know he was going to be close. Then he lowered his hand to the bed as he realized that life, as he had known it for so long, would never be the same.

Something had been
shared, and it couldn't be taken back.

Nor did he want to …

When her breaths were deep and rhythmic—the breaths of a child who'd finally fallen asleep—he rose, careful not to disturb her, and moved toward the door. He paused to glance at her once more, assuring himself that she was fast asleep. And he was careful to leave the hall light on, the door cracked …

Lest
she awaken.

***

Deep beneath the Earth, they convened.

Archette waited at the foot of the table, beholding each pale countenance. Six wore the rich scarlet robes that signified their exalted rank. But Lazarus wore a robe of the purest white with a single gold eye intricately embroidered on the chest.

Moving his arms to adjust the luxurious folds, Lazarus lowered his head at Archette, who had come as soon as he had returned from Los Angeles because Lazarus despised impersonal communication. Furtive for a moment, Archette glanced about and saw none of the black-cloaked bodyguards, but the shadows were thick in the far reaches of the cavern.

"And?" Lazarus asked in a threatening tone.

"And so, it is almost finished," Archette replied steadily, gathering himself before the feel of such power. "Soloman has only forty-eight-hours to complete the mission. But he cannot complete it in so short a time. It is impossible. Our Lord is far too powerful to be caught so quickly – if at all. So, in practical terms, Soloman has been eliminated.” He nodded. “As I promised."

Nothing could be read in Lazarus's burning black eyes, and the rest of
the Family turned to gaze at the inhuman, coldly composed figure. For a long time there was silence, and then a reply.

"Remember
whom you serve, Archette. Your earlier errors were grave, but they were not mortal.” Lazarus paused. "You are blessed, my son. We are not as the rest. We do not dream empty dreams. Our power is real. Our purposes are laid deep, and brought to substance. And our will is the stuff of life. We have held the secrets, and the power, within the Family for five hundred years building empire upon empire, and continue. And we share our knowledge only with a cherished few, so know what benefits you shall receive.” There was a slow nod. “You are welcome once more."

The torches crackled.

"Come closer," intoned Lazarus.

Nervously relieved, Archette moved closer, glancing at the surrounding faces, feeling himself forgiven. He had failed in the experiment, yes,
failed by releasing the Master before the transformation was complete.Before they could prepare him and they could prepare the way. And he had justified himself by also eliminating Soloman, so … perhaps ...

Lazarus continued in a low voice.

"Your redemption is almost complete." He folded hands before his face, contemplative. "But now you must find our Lord. Or he must somehow remember, and find us."

"Of course," Archette said, and began to thirst.

"You will be rewarded," Lazarus said with no tone. And as he rose Archette could taste the delicious pleasure, the rapturous night that had vividly emerged from within him. Just as he knew that his power, long cultivated, would not be taken from him.

Lazarus gestured, turning into darkness.

"Tonight you shall possess your dreams," he murmured.

***

At midnight Ben returned. He appeared disheveled and pale and surprisingly haggard for someone of such prosperous proportions. He also appeared to have suffered distinctly unsettling stress, his sweat-slick forehead glistening in the light of the kitchen.

As he passed
Soloman and Maggie he waved dismissively, in no mood to speak. Then, with the direct purpose of a man who seriously needs a drink but has held off too long, he headed for the cabinet above the sink.

"Is
the kid asleep?" he grumbled, opening the cabinet.

Soloman
smiled. "Yeah, Ben, she's asleep. Go ahead and pour yourself one." He looked at Maggie and she nodded, pushed back her bangs: "And pour one for each of us."

Ben mixed a small pitcher of vodka martinis, poured three glasses, and collapsed in a chair. He leaned back, loosening his tie with a fatigue that almost made
Soloman laugh out loud. He waited until Ben took a heavy hit, watched while he shook his head as if he could still hear a host of attacking voices. Ben's mouth moved in a silent, obviously obscene reply to someone who was not there.

"So
?" Soloman smiled. "It went well?"

Ben muttered, "But this is what happens when you work with a bunch of boot-licking pencil-pushers. Old Bull, warrior that he is, stood like the Rock of Gibraltar. But he can't keep it up. That wreck on the bridge really set 'em off, boy. And that fiasco at the museum was almost
too much, what with the destruction of twenty-five million dollars in irreplaceable art." He was staggered. "God Almighty, it was like the Inquisition. You should have heard Blake Hollman, the NSA guy." He attempted a broad imitation, "'Who the hell's gonna pay for it? The city? No! The Army? Hell, no! The State Department? Good luck!'" He paused. "I told him that I didn't know and I didn't care but it sure as hell wasn't gonna be
me
! Then they started in on the rest of it. Seven dead soldiers, each with a million dollars' worth of training, a seriously pissed off Los Angeles Police Department which, by the way, can kiss my freckled butt. And the fact that this wholesale media orgy over a bunch of mutilated bodies is about to reach an orgasm that's gonna make blood run out their ears and curl their toes up over their knees."

Maggie laughed beautifully.

"You're going to be all right, Ben," Soloman winked. "I think we've come up with a plan to lure Cain out of hiding. With any luck, we'll get him trapped in a free-fire zone with two AH-64s that'll open up on him with mini-guns. We'll pump the cycle to four thousand rounds a minute and just let 'em go." He raised his glass in a toast. "Fire at will, boys."

"Are you kidding?" Ben stared.

"Nope."

"You're serious?"

"Yep."

"You really think you can kill him with this?"

"Yeah."

"Jesus."

Soloman laughed.

"But," Ben
managed, "... but when did you come up with it? Why didn't you tell me about—"

"We didn't come up with it until after you left,"
Soloman answered. "But it's a good plan. Malo and five of the men are in Warwick, New York. It's about sixty miles from the city. There's an abandoned basilica there surrounded by about ten miles of swamp of every side. When Cain comes for the manuscript at the Museum of Natural History, which he will, we're going to leave him clues as to the location of Amy. Then he'll come for her." Soloman paused at Ben's abruptly deadened gaze. "We're going to use Amy as bait, Ben."

Ben looked at Maggie Milton. She nodded, cupping the martini
tightly in her hands. And when he regarded Soloman again he seemed to have trouble coming to terms with the concept.

"Sol, maybe we ought to think about this."

"It's a good plan, Ben."

"Well
–
maybe
. But they think you've already pushed this thing too far into the daylight. And ... and I'm not sure that I disagree with Bull and the some of the others. That stunt at the museum ..."

"I know,"
Soloman agreed. "I pushed it. But this is a solid plan, Ben. We can catch this guy in the open and liquefy him. And Amy's not even going to be there when the shooting starts."

Only silence answered, a sea of silence that no one seemed eager to break. Ben stared at his already empty glass, unhesitatingly poured him-self another. "You really think it'll work? I mean, this SOB ... he ain't human, Sol. Jesus, I don't know
what
he is! And if there's more collateral damage, we're finished. Even as it is they're only giving us forty-eight hours to take our best shot."

With a weary sigh
Soloman lowered his eyes. "Yeah, there's some unknowns. But there's always going to be unknowns. Only one thing is certain. Cain won't stop looking for Amy and he is
not
indestructible.
Nothing
is indestructible." He took a slow sip. "I'm gonna find how much the boy can take. Right down his throat."

"Are we gonna stick with the team?"

"Yeah."

"And the priest?"

"Is cover. The only complication is that we have to let Cain get to the second manuscript in the museum without getting anybody killed. We have to devise a way to associate her with it without arousing Cain's suspicions because I want Cain to think he's got the advantage of surprise." He grunted. "Then I'm gonna give him the last surprise of his life."

Ben warmed to the idea, or maybe it was the vodka. "Yeah, it might work, Sol. But we have to—"

Emerging ghost-like from a nearby hall, Sister Mary Francis passed through the room, moving with silent strides toward the kitchen. Ben watched her walk past him with the most obvious disbelieving gaze and then closed his eyes as he shook his head. "Jesus, Sol ..."

"We might
can use her, Ben," Soloman replied blandly.

"But Sol, if you only knew what I've gone through today ..."

"What?"

"Don't worry about it." Ben rubbed his eyes, leaning back to release a slow groan. "Anyway, as I was saying before ... before the
entire
Vatican
arrived, we're gonna have to have that perimeter covered like a blanket. I don't want that thing coming up my six."