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“Makes me less than truly righteous, doesn’t it?” said Tim with a smile. “The sin of suspicion?”
“Shit,” I said as I realized something. “Now that you’re alive, the smiting will move back to Swindon and my brother will be vaporized.”
“No chance of that,” said Tim cheerfully. “I’m not nearly righteous enough to move a smiting any appreciable distance. My sin is not just suspicion but vengeance, and calculation.”
“So . . . we’re about to get smitten here and now with all the ax murderers?”
The righteous man divested himself of the breastplate, murmured that he thought he might have a broken rib, then stood up and looked around. “Where is that nasty piece of work right now?”
I pointed to where the tiltrotor had positioned itself about two miles away, static in the hover, presumably to watch Smite Solutions’ success— and the hundred-million-pound price tag that went with it.
“Ooh,” said Tim, looking up. “Impressive, don’t you think?”
I followed his gaze. The hole in the center of the swirling clouds was now bright white, and, with a deep rumbling sound, tendrils of a plasma-like substance began to descend. The tendrils grouped, then fused and were soon a dense tongue of fire. As we watched, the pillar of fulminating power moved sideways and headed toward us. I made to run, but the righteous man held my arm.
“Wait a moment,” he said. “Few get to see something like this at such close range.”
The pillar of fire moved nearer, and the air became warmer. The wind dropped, and we heard a noise like the soft crackle of burning pine needles. The concentrated wrath gathered speed, and a high-pitched whine filled the air. The smite was almost upon us when it abruptly shifted direction and with a sound like a tornado moved rapidly toward the most evil, unjust, debased and sinful person within the immediate vicinity. Not “Mad Axman” McGraw or the “Butcher of Naples” and not even the infamous “Toe Cutter of Southend.” No, the pillar of all-consuming fiery vengeance was seeking to punish the transgressions of just one man: Jack Schitt.
I think Jack might have realized what was happening, as the tiltrotor suddenly dipped toward us and became larger, the noise of the rotor increasing as it tried to outrun the long and blazing arm of punishing redemption. The small craft was almost overhead when the smite caught it, and the machine exploded into a bright ball of fire that evaporated into nothing, leaving only softly cascading specks of glowing embers that fell about us like snow. Almost immediately the pillar of fire vanished like smoke, and the clouds high above closed with a distant rumble, and we heard the applause from the gathered spectators in the far distance. A moment or two later, the sun came out, and I blinked and stared at the righteous man.
“Wow,” I said.
“I never get bored of those,” he said with a smile. “Like a dozen bonfire-night displays all squeezed into one. Well done, Thursday.”
“I didn’t do anything.”
He placed a hand on my arm and smiled. “Don’t undersell yourself. I’m moderately righteous, but I can’t divert a twentyfelon smiting, even with someone as bad as Jack nearby. No, the reason it worked was your selfless adherence to what was right and just and true. You were willing to sacrifice yourself and your brother rather than kill an innocent man. With you and me pushing the smite away and Jack pulling, it was a cinch. Teamwork.”
He nodded toward where the murderers were incarcerated. “They won’t thank you, though. Welcome to being righteous.”
“Who are you?” I asked.
He smiled again.
“Let’s just say I’m someone who wouldn’t want to see any harm come to you or your brother. The GSD has a large and committed flock, and we sometimes make . . . plans in the background.”
“You’re not going to tell me who or what you are, are you?”
“No.”
“But I did come to harm,” I said with a falling heart. “I was killed by Jack’s assassin at home. I’ve got about sixteen hours left to live.”
“I took the liberty of calling your husband earlier. The assassin got no further than the back door. That was the Wingco responding on Jack’s phone. And Joffy was never in any danger either. You just had to think he was for this to work.”
“You planned all this?”
“Righteousness is a tricksy beast,” he replied with a shrug, “and has to be helped sometimes. But you came out with flying colors. Can you drop me at the station?”
So we drove quietly out of the airfield and past the cordon, now manned by confused-looking Goliath security personnel. We found Phoebe where she had been released, next to the wreckage of her Mini. I thanked her for watching my back earlier, and she climbed into the back of the Sportina.
“Where’s your arm?” she asked.
“Long story. This is Tim. He’s a righteous man.”
“Hello,” said Phoebe. “Got any advice for someone who has caused the death of another?”
“You need to contact Judith’s husband and explain. It will not be easy, but you can and will find forgiveness.”
