SUMMATION (5 page)

           It was old, and still used an old hangar for an
antenna. It still had cable hooked up behind it – it was just that the cable
company had finally shut it off after being more than three months late. It was
okay, he could still get the games. Of course, none were on this time of night,
so he flipped through the channels, finally settling on an old James Bond
movie. Walking backwards to the sofa, he found his seat, and without taking his
eyes off Bambi doing her backflips during an attack on Sean Connery, he reached
for his beer. Promptly knocking it over.

           James Bond never had these problems.

           It had not been a good day for Frankie.

           Sue Blakely was the first of the three women
entering O'Malley's as a group. The three of them had been planning this week
for several months, and it was the first time the group could get away
together. Sue, a private pilot with her own Piper Arrow III, had flown the
group up from Rockford to do some shopping at the Mall of America, followed by
some long overdue drinks at O'Malley's, a tradition for some half dozen years
now. The license to fly now gave them more time to shop, cutting a number of
hours off the trip each way, with the added advantage of the view as they
passed over Devil's Lake in Wisconsin, and the colorful hills before crossing
the Mississippi River on the way north. Plus, as far as Sue was concerned, any
excuse to be in the air was a good one.

           The afternoon had been productive, and the local
economy was now healthier thanks to the efforts of the group. They were still
comparing notes as they sat down at one of the tall tables toward the rear of
the narrow bar, well away from the windows in the front which were still bright
from the late summer sun. Although setting, the window faced west, and even
with the dark film on the glass, it was bright near the windows. It took a
minute for their eyes to adjust. It felt good to be off their feet.

           "You know what I want - go ahead and order
- be right back." Sue got up to head to the restrooms, weaving through the
crowded room. On the way, the television caught her eye.

           "
Massive pile up at WI-IL border leaves
over a dozen dead
" read the scrolling ticker under a scene straight
from an Armageddon like view of cars piled and burning. "
Bodies being
transported to the Winnebago County morgue just south of the incident, in
Rockford, IL."

           "Oh, shit." She quickly went back to
the table.

           "Hey, that was quick, wh-
A
her friend started to say.

           "Hold on, look. Look at the TV."

           The other two turned, and looking across the
room, stared at the screen. The videographer pulled back giving a more complete
view. The devastation was remarkable, yet contained within a very small area. Dozens
of emergency vehicles from both sides of the border had responded. The view cut
back to the newscaster, but with all the noise, they couldn't hear a word.

           Sue pulled out her phone and started dialing. "I'll
be right back," she shouted to them above the multiple conversations going
on around them at the bar, "I gotta make a call." Seeing the drinks
coming over, she added, "Don't wait for me, I'll be right back."

           Going back into the restroom where she'd
originally been headed, she finished dialing, listening through the noise that
still came through the door. She thought she heard someone pick up.

           "Mike? Mike? Is that you? I can hardly
hear."

           "Yeah, it's me. Sue? How's Minnesota? Leave
anything for the others? You can only carry so much in that Arrow, you know."

           "Very funny. What's going on? I saw the
news..."

           "You probably know as much as I do then. Huge
pileup. A lot of dead. Never seen anything like it. Somebody thought it was a
tornado, but they said it wasn't. Who knows. Anyway, bunch of dead people. Gonna
be a long night. Gonna try to get some help from some nearby counties."

           "Mike, I can come back. This is too much."

           "Forget it. You've had this planned. We'll
get by. They aren't going anywhere. Don't worry about it. You enjoy your
vacation. Seriously, we'll get it. Gotta go.
Click
."

           She looked at her phone, then clicked it off. Finishing
her business in the restroom, she returned to her table. Her drink was sitting
there. The other two had started, and in fact were more than halfway through
their first, still staring at the screen.

           Sue sat down, looking at her drink, then back at
the screen. The other two turned toward her.

           "Well, what happened?"

           "I called Mike. He said he had it under control.
I guess it's pretty bad, though. He sounded pretty stressed. He said he'd try
to get some help from the other counties."

           "Can he do that?"

           "Maybe. I don't know. Never did it before. He
said not to worry about it, then he hung up."

           "Okay, good. Here's your drink. You're
behind, you may have noticed."

           She picked it up, pausing, again looking at it,
and then the screen.

           The other two watched her. "Something
wrong?"

           She set the drink back down on the table.

           The other two knew what was coming.

           "I'm sorry guys. I gotta go back. You guys
can stay."

           The others began to protest, but she held up her
hand.

           "Wait a second, guys. I can come back up
later tomorrow, or Wednesday morning, latest. I'll be back, and we can still go
out Wednesday night, and still come back Thursday like we planned. I'm sorry,
but I can't leave it all on him. It's too much. I wouldn't enjoy myself."

           The other two looked at each other and shrugged
their shoulders. They knew her well enough to know they weren't going to
convince her to forget about the job. Not even during a trip out of town. They
had tried that before.

           "If you're sure-
A

           "Yea, sure. Not a problem. I'll be back no
later than, say, Tuesday night. Wednesday absolute latest."

           "Hey, you don't have to do that. We can
just rent something and go back down ourselves."

           "No, no. Don't do that." She stopped,
thinking. "Well, tell you what. I'll call you later. Maybe I can get back
up for a day or so anyway. Just wait and see. I can let you know." She
stood up to leave. "Don't do anything til I get back with you, okay?"

           Her friends got up as well, each giving her a
hug. "Oh, would you guys mind grabbing my suitcase?"

           Both nodded. "Of course. Besides, you
are
coming back, right?"

           "I'm sure going to try. See you day after
tomorrow. I'll call. And you can flip for the drink." She headed out to
grab a cab leaving the other two staring at the screen.

           Sue arrived at the airport less than twenty
minutes later. She had been able to file a flight plan online while in the
taxi, saving time at the airport. Showing her ID at Flight Service, she paid
for the fuel and headed out to the plane to preflight. Finishing the initial
checklist, she started the plane, then completed the final preflight. Looking
at her notes, she punched in the initial radio frequencies she'd need, and her
destination on the GPS. Finally ready, she contacted Departure Control.

           "Rochester Departure, Arrow 73804"
There was a short pause.

           "Arrow 73804"

           "Rochester Departure, Arrow 73804 requesting
departure for Illinois as filed." Another quick pause before the radio lit
up again.

           "Arrow 73804, squawk 3547. Cleared to
Illinois as filed. Cleared to taxi on Bravo to runway three-one. Contact tower
when ready for takeoff."

          
"73804
cleared as filed, taxi Bravo to three-one contact tower," she repeated in
her mike.

           She taxied down to the beginning of runway 31,
stopping before entering the runway.

           "Rochester tower, Arrow 73804 ready for
takeoff, runway three-one."

           "Arrow 73804, you are cleared for takeoff
three-one. Maintain runway heading not to exceed three thousand feet."

           "Arrow 73804 cleared three-one, runway
heading, don't exceed three-thousand," she repeated back. She pulled onto
the runway, pushed the throttle forward, and in a few moments was airborne for
Illinois.

           The weather was clear, and the flight smooth. She
always enjoyed flying at night, even more so in the summer. Summer air, with
the heat rising from the ground, tended to create turbulence, and a bumpy
flight. At night, though, the air cooled and settled. No sun glaring into the
windshield.  The sun was still there, off to the right, but not for long.  Fewer
flights were in the air, and the stars were beautiful. No question about it. Night
flying was her preference for getting from point A to point B.

           She'd been in the air for about an hour and a
half, and could see Madison off to the left. Her direct flight would take her a
little west of Beloit, but she was curious about the accident site and homed in
on the Janesville VOR. From there, she could turn southeast and be at the
accident site in two or three minutes. Sue continued, enjoying the clear night
sky.

* * *

           Although still some twenty miles or so away, she
could see a bright spot with flashes in the distance. That must be it. As she
crossed the Janesville VOR, she could clearly see the flashing red and blue
lights, as well as the brilliantly lit accident scene just across the state
line. The entire area was illuminated by the floodlights the fire department
had raised on their extendable mounts, appearing as miniature stadium lights,
highlighting a pile of wreckage surrounded by emergency staff from numerous
agencies.

           She was amazed that even now, all these hours
later, the wreckage was still not only present, but still being disassembled. Something
awful must have happened.

           Puzzled, she saw the ground in the area covered
in white, almost like snow. She wondered what on earth it was.
Probably foam
from the fire department. What else could it be?

           She steered back south, and contacted Rockford
approach for landing instructions.

* * *

           Taxiing off the runway, she headed towards the
hangar she rented for her Arrow. Shutting the plane down, she opened the giant
doors that rose up, opening the entire wall. She attached the tow bar to the
front wheel, and pushed the plane back into the hangar. She jotted some notes
in her Pilot's Log, then turned out the lights and locked up the hangar. She
walked out to her car, heading for the exit gate, and from there, straight up
Highway 2 towards the Public Safety Building.

           The cavalry had arrived.

           He finished, leaving his seed deep within her. "IT
IS DONE," his first spoken words.

As he climbed off, a change came over the group. The hoods
of all twelve men were tossed back, and they began to congratulate and hug each
other. One of the men took another blade (not used in the ceremony) and cut
through her bindings. Another brought a robe and covered her, even before her limbs
were freed. Gently, they helped her off the altar, placing her on several
blankets lying over a bed of straw in a four-wheeled horse-drawn cart. The
change was so complete she thought she had gone mad, or perhaps had actually
died. There was no understanding, and still, no one spoke to her.

           After resting a few minutes while other
preparations were made, she was placed on a horse, flanked by two of the men.

           "Be sure she returns home safely, or all is
for naught."

           The two nodded, and all three wheeled around and
took off at a canter, visible as clear silhouettes against the moonlit
background.

           The remains of the Demon-Star, comprising of
three larger pieces, a few smaller, and some tiny flakes and fragments, all
that could be recovered, were all wrapped in a soft, red blanket, and placed
within an iron lock-box. The remaining blood-powder mixture was scraped into a
small clay urn. Wax was then melted and poured around the upper rim of the urn,
and a small clay disk pressed down upon it, forming an airtight seal. The urn
was carefully wrapped with numerous yards of a yarn-like material that not only
secured the lid to the urn, but provided cushioning to the brittle container. This
was placed within the red blanket as well, for additional protection. The box
was then locked on both ends, and across both sides, each man present providing
their own lock. Finally, additional wax, still warming in the surrounding fire,
was applied to not only the locks and opening edge of the lid, but to each seam.
Each man applied his seal to the wax on one side or the other in turn.

           "Brother Thomas." One figure stepped
forward. "We are finished. Our role is complete."

           He paused, looking at the horses with the case,
about to head west. The rest of the men were loosely standing in an arc in
front of him. These were good men. They had gone through much to accomplish
what they had. Honestly, more than any of them had dreamed. But they had
fulfilled the writings. It was a shame that none of them would live to see its
culmination. He turned back towards the men.

           "It is done." He paused. "We have
accomplished much, all that we have been asked to, and now, our task is
complete. Almost." Turning, he addressed the man at his side, "As
discussed, you need to return the Star to Rome. Speak to no man. Two of us,
drawn by lots, will assist you. These papers will see you through any borders,
for no man will openly dare challenge the order of the Pope. Remember, in Rome,
you must speak to our man only, ONLY. If the others even suspect, all could be
lost."

           "For the rest of us, we must each return to
our homes. Speak nothing of this to any man or priest, nor to God himself, if
asked. We will never live to see our goal, nor our children, but after..."

           He held out a small leather sack.

           "Draw one stone," he instructed the
group. "The two black stones will accompany the delivery." They all
drew, and two stepped forward, holding the black markers in their hands.

           The leader nodded, and gave his final
instructions.

           "Go now. Go in confidence, for as you guard
and protect the Star, it will guard and protect you."

           The iron box was fastened to the back of one of
the horses, and each priest took another mount. Although the site of an iron
lockbox would normally tempt the robbers who preyed on the roads, few would
chance the wrath of God by attacking a priest, and the few who dared would be
unpleasantly surprised by the response of the priests. Neither would have any
qualms about encouraging an early introduction between thief and Maker, and
both were more than capable of insuring that meeting.

           Once in Rome, the lock-box would be placed in an
unmarked vault deep under the Vatican, awaiting the time it would be called upon
again, protected, unknowingly, by the Pope's own guards.

* * *

           Ironic, as this was to be the instrument of his
undoing.

* * *

           "It is done," he repeated softly,
knowing deep inside that it had only just begun.