Robert Browne - The Paradise Prophecy

“False alarm,” he said.

“You sure?”

He nodded. “We’re safe. For now.”

“Just remind me not to fall asleep,” she muttered.

They continued up the steps until they reached the doorway, then paused at the threshold, peering cautiously inside.

The room beyond was cavernous, with stone pillars along either side and an enormous nave ceiling. The pillars had been painted with scenes from scripture, full of cherubs and clouds and swooning maidens, but the colors were faded, the images worn away by time. The floor was made of intricately carved terra-cotta tile, but the years had been unkind and there were cracks in several places, with moss growing between them.

In fact, as Batty looked around, he thought it was something of a miracle that the place was standing at all. A sudden cough, and it might very well come tumbling down around them.

They stepped inside, moving toward an archway in back, neither of them saying a word. There were deep shadows beyond the pillars, but Batty wasn’t getting any unusual vibes. Still, he half expected to find the remains of Brother Philip’s toasted corpse somewhere.

As they stepped past the last pillar, Batty heard a faint click and something cold and hard touched the side of his neck.

“That’s about far enough,” a voice said.

So much for his sixth sense.

Batty and Callahan froze, and a husky guy with a shaved head, wearing a dark brown cassock, stepped from behind the pillar.

“Repeat after me,” he said. “I accept Jesus Christ as my lord and savior.”

Callahan stared at him. “What?”

“Just say it or I’ll pull the trigger right now. I accept Jesus Christ as my lord and savior.”

Batty and Callahan exchanged looks, but Batty knew what this was. He was giving them a test. If they could repeat the oath, they passed. If not, they were either dark angels, drudges or sycophants, and Brother Philip-assuming that’s who this guy was-would blow Batty’s head off.

Batty didn’t have the heart to tell him this was probably a waste of time. He nodded to Callahan and they both repeated the oath. “I accept Jesus Christ as my lord and savior.”

Brother Philip seemed satisfied, but said, “Okay, step two. Before we get to introductions, if either or both of you have weapons, put them on the floor right now.”

Batty had never seen Callahan carrying a weapon-hell, the way she could punch, she didn’t need one-and he sure didn’t carry any himself, so he just raised his hands, showing them empty and hoped this would be enough to make Brother Philip happy.

“Weapon free,” Callahan told him.

“What about the guy flying the helicopter? Any chance he’ll come in here and start blasting away?”

Batty and Callahan exchanged looks again.

“I think you’re okay,” she said.

Philip eyed them warily, a slight nervous tick in his jaw, then he finally relaxed and lowered the gun. “Okay, who are you and what are you doing here?”

With all due respect,” Callahan said, “you don’t act much like a monk.”

They were in an adjacent room now, sitting at a long table. Philip was camping out in here, his backpack and provisions piled in a corner. A kerosene lamp glowed beside him as he set out three paper cups and started pouring tea from a thermos.

He was full of nervous energy and it had taken them a few minutes to get him loosened up. “And what’s a monk supposed to act like?”

Callahan shrugged. “I just expected you to be more … holy.”

Philip nodded as if he understood. “I was pretty bowled over the first time I saw a priest smoking a cigarette and knocking back a shot of whiskey. We get these preconceived notions of what it means to be holy and when somebody doesn’t live up to the stereotype, we’re surprised.”

“You have to admit a monk with a gun is a little unusual,” Batty said.

Philip finished pouring and pushed their cups across the table. “Hey, what can I tell you? I grew up in Jersey and I wasn’t always with the monastery. And when your life is in danger, old habits die hard, you know what I mean? I haven’t seen anything in the handbook says I’ve gotta be a hero.”

Callahan frowned at him. “Are you sure you’re Brother Philip?” He glared at her. “What do you want, an ID? I’m afraid I left it in my other pants.” He gestured to her cup. “You’re not gonna drink your tea?”

Callahan eyed it suspiciously and didn’t pick it up. “Why don’t you tell us about the e-mail?”

“E-mail?”

“The one you sent in reply to Koray Ozan a couple weeks ago.”

Philip had his own cup to his lips. He paused. “You know about that?”

“Ozan wasn’t a genius when it came to computer security.”

“Fair enough,” he said, then took a quick sip. “What else do you know?”

“That you’re Custodes Sacri ,” Batty told him. “And I’m guessing you’re wearing the medallion right now.”

Philip stared at him a long moment, as if trying decide whether he could trust him. Then he shrugged, reached into his collar and brought out the Saint Christopher medal hanging from a thick leather strap around his neck. “I’m starting to think this thing is costing me a lot more than it’s worth.”

“How long have you been with the order?”

“Long enough to know I shouldn’t be talking to strangers about it.”

“Let’s get back to the e-mail,” Callahan said. “Why was Ozan asking about the seven missing pages from the Devil’s Bible?”

“Because he was a curious old fool. And curious fools wind up dead.”

“Or blind,” Batty said. “Like Milton?”

“Milton, Galileo and God knows who before them.”

Batty was surprised. “Galileo?”

“That’s how Milton got the bug. Galileo told him about the missing pages and he went looking for them. Or so the story goes. At this point, I’m not sure how much of it’s true. These things tend to get distorted after a while.”

“What’s on those pages?” Callahan asked.

“A curse; I know that much. It’s what drove both Galileo and Milton blind. But as far as I know the pages from the Codex don’t even exist anymore. When Milton realized how dangerous they were, he burned them.”

“So how does this connect to Paradise Lost ?” Batty asked. “What were Ozan and Gabriela Zuada trying so hard to find in Book Eleven?”

Philip looked from Batty to Callahan. “You two have been doing your homework. You’d better be careful, or you’ll wind up just like Milton. Or Ozan. Although at this point it probably doesn’t matter.”

“Why?”

“Have you looked outside lately? What’s happening in the world right now is enough to scare the Jesus right out of you. Everybody’s favorite demons have been very busy-manipulating the stock market, flooding cities with drugs, whispering in the ears of those on the brink of waging war. And once the fourth moon comes, they’ll finally be able to release all their slaves-a lot more than there ever were before-and that’ll be the end of us.”

“Fourth moon?” Callahan said.

“The fourth moon of the tetrad. It hits in two days.”

She frowned. “What are you talking about?”

“An eclipse,” Batty told her. “The fourth eclipse this year.”

“Look,” Brother Philip said, “do yourself a favor, go home and be with your loved ones, because the way it’s looking, the bad guys have already won. And by this time next week, we’ll either all be dead or so close to it, we’ll wish we were.”

“Are you talking the Apocalypse?” Callahan asked.

Philip snorted. “The Apocalypse is a fairy tale. But it pretty much amounts to the same thing. Only none of us will be seeing the Rapture anytime soon.”