******
Pennsylvania: Somewhere on the road
After a couple of hours the Angel figure it was time to pull over at a gas station to hit the bathroom, take on supplies, and make some phone calls. They stopped in a God-forsaken coal-mining town in Pennsylvania where the slag piles glowed redly like the pits of Hell and the stench of brimstone, or something very like it, smothered the air they were trying to breath.
The gas station, pumps, and even the parking lot was covered by a powdery gray dust that clung to everything like iron filings to a magnet. The Angel swiped her fingers across the gas pump, and they came away greasy with a fine-particled ash that was invisible in the air, but so pervasive that it had settled seemingly everywhere. She could imagine what the locals’ lungs looked like, and decided that the sooner they left this area, the better.
She put the nozzle into the van’s gas tank, and started pumping as John Fortune came out of the bathroom.
“Now that we have a chance,” he said, “I should probably call my Mom to let her know that I’m okay and not to worry.”
The Angel nodded. “That would be a good idea.”
“Should I tell her we’re going to Branson?” he asked.
“I don’t know about that. We don’t want the Allumbrados to discover where we’re going. The fewer who know our destination, the better.”
John Fortune nodded, considering. “You’re probably right. So, you know who the kidnappers are? Those Allumbrados?”
“They’re Papists,” the Angel said.
“Papists?”
“Catholics,” she explained.
“I thought they were criminals. What do the Catholics want me for?”
“They think...” She paused. She couldn’t lie to him and couldn’t think of a plausible evasion. “Well, you see, they think you’re the Anti-Christ.”
“The Anti-Christ?” John Fortune repeated, unbelievingly.
“The Devil,” she said. “Satan.”
“I know who the Anti-Christ is,” he said with some annoyance. “I saw The Omen. But—why? Why do they think I’m the Devil? And what are they planning on doing with me?”
“They’re bad men, John,” the Angel said. “I don’t know what they’re planning to do,” she finished lamely, and wished she hadn’t lied, even if only by omission, when he nodded skeptically. She ignored his question as to why they thought he was the Anti-Christ, hoping it would just go away, and was relieved when it did. At least for now.
“Okay. Then why exactly are we going to Branson?”
Here was a question she could answer. At least partially. “You’ll be safe there. There’s someone there who can protect you.”
“Jerry from the detective agency was protecting me—”
“And doing a fine job,” the Angel said scornfully.
“Well, yeah. There’s that,” John Fortune admitted.
“Look,” the Angel said. “I’m just an operative. The Hand—my boss in Branson has all the answers. He’ll be able to tell you everything. I promise.”
“Well—”
The Angel put her hand on his, feeling the warmth of his flesh. He was a handsome boy, thoughtful, it seemed, and good-natured. But either he was a consummate actor, or he really had no knowledge of who he was. She could admit no other possibility, except that maybe he was testing her. She already felt closer to him than she’d ever felt to anyone. Even her mother. She would do anything for him, sacrifice everything, to protect him.
“You must trust me,” she told him, all her heart in her words. “You must never doubt me. I’ll do everything in my power to keep you safe. You must believe that.”
John Fortune looked at her for a long, solemn moment, then he nodded. “I believe you.”
“All right,” the Angel said. “I will not fail your trust.”
“Cool,” John Fortune said. “Let’s go pay for the gas and lay in some supplies, and I’ll call Mom.”
“Right,” the Angel said.
They picked up a couple of six packs of Dr. Pepper and Mountain Dew, candy bars, cupcakes, chips, and some sandwiches that looked reasonably fresh. The Angel paid with The Hand’s credit card. She could see now why Ray had insisted on taking it with him.
Since they were in a sheltered mountain valley and their cells didn’t work very well, they used the Angel’s pre-paid phone card to make a couple of calls. She let John Fortune call home first. He didn’t realize that his mother had been badly injured in the Las Vegas battle, and she didn’t have the heart to tell him about it. As she’d expected, nobody was home when he called, so he left a message on the answering machine. The Angel hoped Peregrine was still alive. She told John Fortune that she and Josh McCoy were probably out coordinating the search for him. She was sure, she added, that they’d get his message soon.
As John Fortune hauled their supplies to the van, she called The Hand. It rang several times before a bright voice answered, “President Barnett’s office.”
She recognized the young Secret Service agent who was always so polite and helpful.
“Hello, Alejandro,” she said. “It’s the Midnight Angel. Let me speak to the President.”
“Angel! Where are you? Do you have the John Fortune with you? All heck has broken out and President Barnett is really worried about you all.”
“We’re fine,” the Angel assured him. “We’re somewhere in Pennsylvania right now, but I’m bringing him in.”
“Is Billy with you?”
“No.” The Angel paused. “We had to leave him behind. Let me speak to the President.”
“Well, okay. Hang on while I transfer the call.”
There was static filled silence for a moment, then Barnett’s booming voice came on the line.
“Yes, Angel, is that you?”
“Yes. I have him. We’re coming in.”
“By plane?”
She could hear the excitement in his voice.
“No, sir. We’re driving. Someone may be on our trail. At least, I’m assuming it’s a possibility. We’ll stick to the secondary roads, so expect us late tomorrow, probably.”
“Excellent,” The Hand said. “What about Ray. Is he with you?”
“No.” She frowned. “I had to leave him behind.”
“Oh. All right. He’s a big boy. He can take care of himself. Disappointing, though. I’ll have to talk to him—Sally Lou, not while I’m on the phone.”
Coldness suddenly clutched the Angel’s heart. Disappointing, the Angel thought. Yes, very.
“All right,” The Hand said. “Good plan. Listen. Call in only if there’s an emergency. The less said on the airwaves, the better, if you know what I mean.”
“Yes, sir.” The Angel could only imagine what was going on with The Hand and Sally Lou. Actually, she realized, she couldn’t, but it had to be sinful. She heard a giggle in the background, hung up, and got out of the booth.
“Can I drive for awhile?” asked John Fortune, who’d been waiting outside the booth with one last sack of junk food.
The Angel rummaged in the bag and picked out a package of little glazed chocolate donuts.
“Do you have a license?”
“Well...”
“Better not then.”
They went together to the old van, the Angel marveling not only at the fact that she was traveling cross-country with her Lord and Savior, but that he was also accepting her orders so meekly and graciously. She didn’t know if this was the Jesus she wanted facing Satan and his spawn in the final confrontation, but for now she was happy that he seemed so amiable and willing to go along with the program. It certainly made her job easier. She could sort out the theological implications later, when they were safe and sound in the bosom of The Hand.