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"But then, as we get older, we begin to think that such things are ridiculous. We think of it as having been just a child's fantasy of being a movie actor. We forget that, at those moments in which we are presenting ourselves before an invisible audience, the sensation of being observed was very strong."
He paused for a moment.
"When I look up at the night sky, that feeling often returns, and my question is always the same: Who is out there watching us?"
"And who is it?"
"Angels. God's messengers."
She stared up at the heavens, wanting to believe what he had said.
"All religions, and every person who has ever witnessed the Extraordinary, speak of angels," Paulo went on. "The universe is populated with angels. It's they who give us hope. Like the one who announced that the Messiah had been born. They also bring death, like the exterminating angel that traveled through Egypt destroying all those who did not display the right sign at their door. Angels with flaming swords in their hands can prevent us from entering into paradise. Or they can invite us in, as the angel did to Mary.
"Angels remove the seals placed on prohibited books, and they sound the trumpets on the day of Final Judgment. They bring the light, as Michael did, or darkness, as Lucifer did."
Hesitantly, Chris asked, "Do they have wings?"
"Well, I haven't seen an angel yet," he answered. "But I wondered about that, too. I asked J. about it."
That's good, she thought. At least I'm not the only one who has simple questions about the angels.
"J. said that they take whatever form a person imagines they have. Because they are God's thoughts in live form, and they need to adapt to our wisdom and our knowledge. They know that if they don't, we'll be unable to see them."
Paulo closed his eyes.
"Imagine your angel, and you will feel its presence right now, right here."
They fell quiet, lying there on the floor of the desert. There was not a sound to be heard, and Chris began once again to feel like she was in a film, playing to an invisible audience. The more intensely she concentrated, the more certain she was that all around her there was a strong presence, friendly and generous. She began to imagine her angel, dressed in blue, with golden hair and immense white wings--exactly as she had pictured her angel as a child.
Paulo was imagining his angel, as well. He had already immersed himself many times in the invisible world that surrounded them, so it was not a new experience for him. But now, since J. had assigned him this task, he felt that his angel was much more present--as if the angels made themselves available only to those who believed in their existence. He knew, though, that whether one believed in them or not, they were always there--messengers of life, of death, of hell, and of paradise.
He dressed his angel in a long robe, embroidered in gold. And he also gave his angel wings.
THE HOTEL WATCHMAN, EATING HIS BREAKFAST, TURNED TO them as they came in.
"I wouldn't go out into the desert at night again," he said.
This really is a small town, Chris thought. Everybody knows what you're doing.
"It's dangerous in the desert at night," the guard explained. "That's when the coyotes come out, and the snakes. They can't stand the heat of the day, so they do their hunting after the sun goes down."
"We were looking for our angels," Paulo said.
The watchman thought that the man didn't speak English very well. What he had said didn't make sense. Angels! Perhaps he'd meant something else.
The two finished their coffee quickly. Paulo's "contact" had set their meeting for early in the morning.
CHRIS WAS SURPRISED WHEN SHE SAW GENE FOR THE first time. He was quite young, certainly not more than twenty, and he lived in a trailer out in the desert, several miles from Borrego Springs.
"This is a master of the Conspiracy?" she whispered to Paulo, when the youth had gone to fetch some iced tea.
But Gene was back before Paulo could respond. They sat under an awning that extended along the side of the trailer.
They talked about the rituals of the Templars, about reincarnation, about Sufi magic, about the Catholic church in Latin America. The boy seemed to know a great deal, and it was amusing to listen to their conversation--they sounded like fans discussing a popular sport, defending certain tactics and criticizing others.
They spoke of everything--except angels.
The heat of the day was intensifying. They drank more tea as Gene, smiling agreeably, told them of the marvels of the desert. He warned them that novices should never go into it at night, and that it would be smart to avoid the hottest hours of the day, as well.
