Part 28 (2/2)

”What about the fate of America? We're talking about changing history, altering the course of America!”

Abdiel's lack of concern was infuriating. He looked like he was about to yawn. I wanted to grab him and shake him until he came to his senses. ”The events of the next few days will unfold as they are meant to unfold. They will not alter the outcome of the larger conflict. All is in the Father's hands.”

I was on my feet again. ”Well, excuse me if I don't share your optimism! This is my president and my nation and I don't take kindly to the fact that a bunch of rogue angels are messing with it! I'm going to stop them!”

”As you should. Each of us must fight our own battles.”

Behind me, the door latch rattled. The door opened. The maid walked in, surprised again that we were still . . .

That I was still here.

Abdiel was gone.

”I come back?” she asked.

”No. We're . . . I'm on my way out.”

Her gaze fixed on the floor, she stepped back to allow me to exit.

As I pa.s.sed her, I said, ”I hope Nuria's fever breaks soon. The best medicine for a sick child is a mother who loves her.”

”Senor?” the maid said, astonished.

The maid's arrival was a blessing. I needed to get out, to walk. With nowhere in particular to go, I stepped out the hotel's front door onto Broadway. Horton Plaza, an open-air shopping center with colorful and interesting multilevel pa.s.sageways, lay directly across the street. Some people can get lost in a crowd. I prefer open s.p.a.ce and plenty of it.

That gave me an idea. I turned west. A few blocks later I walked into Emerald Plaza, a hotel and business center. At night its neon-green lights circling the tops of a series of towers of varying levels are a distinctive landmark in the San Diego skyline.

I crossed the highly polished tile floors to the elevators in the tallest tower and pushed the highest b.u.t.ton. Minutes later I stood at the top of one of the tallest buildings in San Diego overlooking the bay, and beyond that, the Pacific Ocean.

The view was similar to the view from the airplane as we were coming in for a landing-the bridge, Coronado Island, the bay with sailboats.

Wind whipped through my hair and brushed my cheeks. With my heightened senses it felt positively exhilarating, which gave me an idea. If I had any sense at all I'd find an upscale restaurant and order the biggest steak on the menu.

Leaning against the guardrail, I breathed in the ocean air and tried to clear my mind. I closed my eyes.

When I awoke this morning, my thoughts had focused on ways to tell the professor that I didn't think much of his fantasy world of angels. Now I was one.

I still wasn't convinced. It was easy for Alice. Fall down a hole and you're in Wonderland having tea with the Mad Hatter. I was still in the world . . .

. . . that isn't what you think it is.

I looked over the edge of the building. Maybe this was Wonderland.

Standing over Broadway Avenue from on high reminded me of another scene. This one from the Bible.

The way I remembered it, the devil took Jesus to the highest point of the temple with the wind blowing through their hair like mine was now.

The devil taunted Jesus. Prove yourself. Throw yourself down from here. If you are who you say you are, surely your angels will catch you so that you do not hurt yourself.

I leaned over the edge and looked at the street below. Why had I remembered that story right now? Was someone trying to tell me something?

I guess one way of proving I had angel blood in me would be to throw myself over the guardrail. Would one of my relatives swoop down to save me?

Cars backed up at the lighted intersection. Pedestrians crossed the street in front of them.

Who would most likely come to my rescue? Surly Uncle Abdiel? Or evil Uncle Semyaza?

CHAPTER 21.

Instead of throwing myself off the Emerald Plaza tower, I took the elevator down. Returning to the U.S. Grant Hotel, I entered the lobby and headed for the elevators.

The concierge hailed me.

Then, looking past me, he hailed two security guards. In quick order they flanked me.

”Is something wrong?” I asked them.

Now the concierge made a phone call and within seconds two Secret Service agents appeared. It's easy to spot Secret Service agents, they all look alike. It's easier still to spot them when you've spent an afternoon with them in a tiny interrogation room. My hand moved involuntarily to my backside.

”Agent Cunningham. Agent Phillips,” I said.

Phillips, the one with the rogue curl that made him look like Superman, smoothed it back. It instantly fell to his forehead again.

A bellboy appeared with my luggage. He was instructed to set the bags down in front of me.

”Am I checking out?” I asked.

”I'm sure you'll have no difficulty finding alternative lodging, Mr. Austin,” Agent Cunningham said.

There was a seating area off to my right. A television was tuned to a live news report from North Island Naval Air Station. The picture showed Air Force One landing.

The president was in San Diego.

Agent Phillips said, ”The concierge has been kind enough to call a taxi, and these two fine gentlemen will escort you to it.”

One security guard grabbed my bags. The other grabbed my arm.

”Wait!” the helpful and efficient concierge called from behind the counter. He turned to some files behind him and retrieved an oversized white envelope. ”This was delivered to Mr. Austin a short time ago.”

He rounded the end of the counter and on long spindly legs danced his way toward us. He held out the envelope to me. Agent Cunningham intercepted it and opened it.

”That's my mail!” I cried. ”That's a federal offense!”

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