Part 38 (2/2)

Like me, his attention was in the direction Jana's helicopter had last been seen. The smoke was thinning.

I heard it before I saw it. Rotors beating the air, sounding like a heartbeat. The helicopter emerged through the haze and steadily plodded toward the deck of the USS Ronald Reagan with the last load of survivors.

I began to breathe again.

The tidal winds began to clear the area surrounding the bridge and for the first time I saw the view that tomorrow would be plastered on every newspaper in the world and printed in every history textbook. The gem of San Diego appeared twisted and broken, its center arches thrusting upward out of the water like tombstones on a foggy night.

Coast Guard boats plied the waters, venturing into the area in search of survivors-of which we knew there were none-and bodies.

”Roll the credits,” Semyaza said.

I looked to the sky. It was over. The heavens of both universes were clear. Lucifer's army had dispersed.

Across the bay where the farewell rally had been scheduled, the land's edge was lined with people wanting to get a look and a picture of history. Cl.u.s.ters of people stood on the deck of the USS Ronald Reagan, among them Christina and Jana, safe, though I couldn't see them.

Jana was no longer on the monitor. I recognized the evening news anchor. Apparently he had been on Coronado to cover the farewell rally that never happened.

It was over. The roller-coaster ride I'd been on since returning to California to speak at my high school alma mater was finally over. The suddenness with which history had turned the page was unnerving. The Douglas administration was no more. Christina was out of a job. After today, Jana would most surely be recruited by the networks. According to the clock, only an hour or so had pa.s.sed. But the clock was wrong. It was a new day.

Turning my back on what had once been my favorite San Diego landmark, I walked away.

Semyaza fell in beside me. ”Quite a production, no?” he said. ”If we really were rolling credits, do you know what they'd say? Produced and directed by Azazel.”

I stopped and stared at him.

”That's right. Your grandfather put this little production together. As you can see, he learned a thing or two during his dalliance in Hollywood.”

I shook my head and continued walking.

”We're not finished,” Semyaza said.

”Yes we are.”

I started walking again. This time he didn't follow me.

”All of this?” Semyaza said to my back. ”You think it was to control history. That isn't our prime objective here.”

I was tired of listening to him. I kept walking.

And then I couldn't.

My feet stopped and-just like in Myles Shepherd's office-I hadn't stopped them.

It angered me that he could do that.

In no hurry, Semyaza strolled casually until he faced me.

”Today isn't about your nation's history, Grant. That was just a bonus. Today is about you. This entire production was staged for your benefit.”

I didn't believe him. How could I? He was speaking in hyperbole, overstatement for effect, it had to be. FA-18s screaming across the sky . . . a bridge blown up . . . a president a.s.sa.s.sinated . . . lives lost . . . millions of dollars in damage . . . to think that it all happened because of me was . . . was . . . unthinkable. Events of this magnitude do not hinge on historians and writers, but men with names like Charlemagne, Napoleon, Churchill, and Lincoln.

”This never was about Douglas,” Semyaza pressed. ”Do you think we care who sits in the Oval Office? One man, not even a president, has the power to change the course of history. It takes a movement, not a man, to effect significant change. Do you really think we care how history remembers R. Lloyd Douglas? Who do you think we are? The Make-A-Wish Foundation for deluded politicians?”

”Then why?”

”I told you. Today is about you.”

”I don't believe you.”

If eyes were ever deadly serious, his were when he said, ”Then tell me why Lucifer's second in command would clothe himself in vile human flesh for years? If we don't concern ourselves with presidents, why would we concern ourselves with a high school student in some mediocre California town?”

I didn't have an answer for him.

”You had come of age,” he said. ”We couldn't take the risk that Abdiel would attempt to recruit you or sway you to the other side. So I babysat you. Prodded you. Goaded you. I did whatever it took to get you to this place.”

”My book. The White House. The Pulitzer.”

”All of it to prepare you for today.”

At the high school Semyaza had boasted that he was responsible for my book winning the Pulitzer. I thought it was sour grapes. For all the lies, why did that part have to be the truth?

”Do I scare you that much?” I asked.

”You present a threat we can't ignore. Your father made it easy for us. He was weak, unable to accept the reality of who he was. He neutralized himself with alcohol. He didn't even tell your mother who he really was until after you were born. We didn't have to concern ourselves with him. He was an embarra.s.sment, never a threat. And then he killed himself.”

I needed to walk. To think. But when I tried, my feet remained Super Glued to the deck.

”Is this necessary?” I asked, pointing to my feet.

Semyaza didn't answer me, neither did he release me.

”All right . . . ,” I said. ”So . . . you're saying that all of this . . .” I waved an expansive hand at the ruined bridge and bay littered with debris. ”To what end? To impress me? To win me over to your side?”

”To convince you that you cannot win,” he said. ”Do you know why Abdiel and the others loathe you so much? You're a b.a.s.t.a.r.d offspring. A freak. Not fully angel, not fully human. An embarra.s.sment.”

”While you, on the other hand, have exhibited nothing but warm feelings toward me.”

”You're a mistake, Grant. Eons ago we mated with human females by design. It was thought that by uniting the two races we would unite their destinies. The Father's response was to kill our human wives and offspring by genocide, literally wiping them off the face of the earth, and to condemn their spirits to an eternity of torment. As a result, Lucifer forbade any further cohabitation with human females. However, some among us had developed an attraction to female flesh. You are the result of Azazel's l.u.s.t.”

That made me feel warm and fuzzy all over. ”Not exactly a Hallmark moment, is it?” I said.

”A number of us have argued that the wisest course of action is to kill you outright. As a demon you are easier to control.”

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