Chapter 7
They took a church flight, which was an old, tattered plane with just enough room for Jhon, thirteen priests, and everyone’s baggage. The plane’s decrepit appearance was immediately belied by engines that started instantly and ran with less vibration than Jhon had experienced before. Whoever their mechanic was, they knew their business.
The plane delivered them to a small airfield next to a town called Raggleston. A church bus, apparently borrowed by a nearby school, picked them up. The bus over-compensated for the plane’s reduced vibrations. Jhon winced every time they went over a bump, and every time they drove past a whorehouse or gentlemen’s club.
“We’re just driving to the front gate?” Jhon asked over the rumble of the engine.
“Do you have a more direct path?” Sabin asked.
“No, Archbishop, but they won’t let us in.”
“Perhaps,” Sabin said.
When they arrived at the main gate security checkpoint Sabin got out and approached the guards. Jhon convinced their driver to kill the engine so he could listen to the inevitable argument.
“Good afternoon, sir,” said the guard. “Who are you here to visit?”
“I am here to investigate a report of demonic activity on this base,” Sabin said. “Are you a soldier for Heaven, or the Hells?” He held a silver star the size of his palm toward the soldier while he spoke.
The soldier flinched. “Is General Archibald expecting you?”
“I fear not. The general is in grave danger,” Sabin said. The kid went white.
Sabin returned to the bus and ordered the driver to proceed. The gate guards looked doubtful, but they got out of the way.
“The general is in grave danger from you,” Jhon said, so only Sabin could hear.
Sabin smiled at him. “A corporal at a gate needs enough information to make a decision, not so much information that he cannot make a decision.”
They drove most of the way to the headquarters building when Archibald arrived with four MPs’ scout cars and cut them off. He motioned for them to get out, then stood waiting.
“Please join me,” Sabin said as he walked off the bus to meet the general.
“Archbishop Sabin,” Archibald said, with a restrained nod.
“Samuel,” Sabin held his ring out. Archibald frowned at him, then took a knee and kissed the ring.
“Why are you here, Archbishop?” Archibald shuffled as he came to his feet.
“I have a disturbing report of demonic activity here, Samuel. What do you know about it?” Sabin’s voice cracked over the men, and Jhon saw several MPs flinch.
“I am not a corporal at a gate for you to intimidate,” Archibald said. “The church carries much respect here, Archbishop, but no authority. State your business clearly or be on your way.”
The MPs shared worried glances.
“Perhaps you would like to speak with someone who does have authority here,” Sabin said, stepping to the side. “Director.”
Jhon stepped forward and lowered the hood of his robe, then held his badge up. Archibald squinted. Jhon could practically hear the grinding of his teeth.
“General,” Jhon said softly enough that only Archibald and Sabin could hear, “I have legal authority here, and the Church has more than enough political clout. Would you like to lose this argument in the courts, or in the press?”
Sabin gave the general a teeth-only smile.
That’s going to give me nightmares.
“Follow me,” Archibald said.
They followed Archibald to the command building. “Bring Major Heyerdahl here,” Sabin said.
Archibald glared at them for a few seconds, then turned to one of his men. “Go get Major Heyerdahl and tell him he’s ordered to meet me in my office immediately.”
Jhon looked around. It was a standard military base. White buildings, if there was trim it was green, lots of lawn. Lots of young men walking around, looking important. The thing that really caught his eye was the tank. They had a big canvas cover over it, but the profile was all wrong. He walked across the parking lot toward it.
“Stop right there,” Archibald said. “We’re bringing Heyerdahl here; you don’t get to wander.”
Jhon pulled his badge out again. “I am the director of the Bureau of Antiquities, General Archibald.” He turned and peeked under the canvas, then pulled his head back and turned. “Archbishop, can you please come look at this?”
Sabin walked over and looked under the canvas. The other priests took turns when he was done.
“There was a report of a wizard on the base,” Sabin said.
“That report feels accurate,” Jhon said. “Do you know what kind of power this takes? I can get enough together to light a candle on a good day.”
Sabin said. “It appears we may have found something far more important than the nephilim we came here to deal with.”
* * *
Archibald seated them in a conference room in the command building. It was plenty big enough for all of them, though Jhon felt it would be far too small once a nephilim was added in.
The major was an impressive specimen. Six feet ten and heavily muscled, which was to be expected with nephilim. What didn’t add up was the youthful arrogance. This man was trying too hard--he wasn’t Heyerdahl, and likely wasn’t a nephilim at all.
Most nephilim don’t seek to intimidate. They do it so naturally they don’t need to try. Sleeves rolled up. I think that’s a violation. No one else is doing that. Trousers are slightly too big.
Heyerdahl pulled a chair out and sat. “What would you gentlemen like to know?”
Sabin motioned to one of the priests, and the man pulled a small case from his robes and walked around the table.
“I just need a drop of blood, son,” he said.
Heyerdahl looked at Archibald, and Archibald nodded.
They’re winging it. This guy isn’t an officer, let alone Heyerdahl.
Jhon stood up.
“Where do you think you’re going?” Archibald gave Jhon a stern look. It may have been frightening if Jhon was an 18-year-old recruit who cared what the general thought.
“Outside to enjoy the air. This isn’t Heyerdahl.” Jhon walked around the table to the door.
Archibald turned to one of his soldiers. “See that he remains within the front porch area.”
“Yes, sir.”.
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Jhon walked downstairs and out the front door. He wasn’t sure what the ‘porch area’ was, the building had a concrete walkway up to the front door, and that was it.
“How far can I walk?” he asked the guard.
“Stay within twenty feet of the door, sir.”
He walked about fifteen feet and stopped. A convoy of trucks loaded with bombs rumbled by. Several aircraft were overhead. Down the street he could see a sign that said Chapel.
A stocky man an inch shorter than Jhon appeared out of nowhere. One second Jhon was alone, and the next second a big hand gripped his shoulder from behind. The guard seemed equally surprised.
What’s a Han doing on this base? I thought this was a whites-only installation.
“Get your hands up, right now,” the guard shouted as he shouldered his rifle.
The stocky guy walked over to the guard, took the rifle out of his hands, and bent it in half, then returned it.
“Next time you threaten me, I will do that to you,” he said. Then he turned around and walked back to Jhon. The guard opened the door and rushed inside.
“I am Chun,” the man said. “Are you here for the nephilim?”
“Yes, we are,” Jhon said. “Jhon Bonga, Director of the Bureau of Antiquities.” He held out his hand, and Chun shook it.
“The man they brought you is not the man I saw before.”
Jhon nodded. “I gathered that. Any idea where the real one went?”
Chun shook his head. “No. I’m sorry.”
Jhon pointed to the melted tank. “Did you do that?”
Chun smiled. “Sometimes Archibald annoys me.”
Archibald burst through the door with half-a-dozen men in tow. “You, arrest Kang and return him to his bunk. Make certain he stays there.”
“Yes, sir.” A pair of men turned Chun around and pushed him toward the hangars.
“Who was that?” Sabin asked.
“That was the wizard,” Jhon said. “His name is Chun.”
Sabin’s eyes lingered on Chun as he was escorted away. “He carries immense sadness. Tell me, how did he introduce himself?”
Jhon shrugged. “He said, ‘I am Chun.’”
“There are people who say that to let others know they are the last of their family line. Normally they would introduce themselves, ‘I am Jhon, of the Bonga.’ But when they are the last, then they say, ‘I am Bonga.’”
Archibald stepped in front of them. “I believe we are done here.”
“We still haven’t met your nephilim,” Jhon said.
Archibald glared at him. “You asked for Major Heyerdahl, I brought you Major Heyerdahl. Either make a request I can honor or get off my base.”
“You brought us Heyerdahl’s uniform,” Jhon said, “but someone else was inside it.”
“I can’t help you with delusions,” Archibald snapped.
“I would like to speak with Chun,” Jhon said.
“There is no Chun here.”
“Then I would like to speak with Kang.”
Archibald’s lip curled. “Impossible. Kang is under house arrest.”
“What for?” Jhon asked.
“Disciplinary action,” Archibald said.
Jhon looked at Sabin. “Archbishop?”
Sabin turned on Archibald. “You have made a mistake today, Samuel. Try to do better tomorrow.”
* * *
Chun’s guards took his keys, locked him in his room, and left shortly after dark. Chun pushed his breath into the door latch, softened it, then slid the door open. The latch sheared off like soft clay. He bent down, picked it up, repaired the door, then closed it and left.
He found a superb knife in Archibald’s house. Since they were now officially enemies, he also found a few hundred dollars in the base of a lamp, and an entire case of something called schnapps. Archibald had a good deal of nice things. Chun thought he would come back to loot more later.
The knife was almost a sword. The blade was as long as his hand and forearm. The handle was covered in woven leather. It was heavy at the end, and bent in the middle, like the boomerangs he had played with as a boy. It had a tolerable edge, and while the balance was poor for dueling, it was good for chopping.
It was clear that Heyerdahl was off the base. Chun ran to town and started looking.
“Help.” The voice was followed by the crack of fist striking flesh.
He trotted to the corner and turned into the alley. A pimp raised his fist and punched a girl in the face. Her head flopped.
Not what I’m here for, but this needs to stop.
Two grimy looking men stepped away from the wall and faced him. One of them held up a bat. The other had some sort of metal thing, like a giant ring, with four holes, over his fist. Chun’s knife killed them both in a single slice across their throats.
The pimp turned to face him, reaching for a weapon in his coat. Chun stabbed him in the crotch, severing his genitals, and opening his femoral artery. The pimp fainted.
The prostitute was barely breathing. Chun’s breath told him she was bleeding into her brain. He focused his breath, twined it through hers, then pulled her breath tight around the bleed. That would halt the damage. Perhaps she would recover, perhaps not.
He broke into the business on the other side of the wall and called the police. They wanted his name, so he said he was Samuel Archibald. Then they told him to wait until officers arrived. He said he would, then he left.
The pimp had a smaller roll of cash than the first one. Chun took the money and split it with the prostitute, then when the sirens sounded close, he left to continue his search.
He spent the night going from street to street, looking for some sign of the nephilim. He stopped a young man from coercing his date into an unwanted sexual experience--it was clearly the boy’s first experience with sex. Chun hoped desperately that the fear of the experience would make the kid behave better in the future. It was clear the girl wouldn’t let him get her alone ever again.
He tamed several dogs. That part was easy, just find the bit of breath in their head that said ‘friend’, and light it up.
A girl flashed him. He wasn’t sure what to do. Seeing wrinkles on a child of no more than seventy made him want to weep. She demanded sex.
“No thank you, ma’am.”
“What’s the matter with you? Are you queer or something?”
Her ranting faded as he hurried on his way. He made it back to the base at sunrise. General Archibald was standing in front of his door.