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The camera pans back as the two discuss the question. Soren stands back up and leans against the wall, the officers on either side of him leaning in to listen to him. The official replies, saying that the purpose of the meeting was to answer procedural questions, not discuss policy but that the new government enjoys the support of sympathetic people and groups from around the world. That he couldn't mention any names in particular to protect them from potential backlash.
How has Soren worked his way into the upper echelons of the military establishment? He established his own private security company in Montana, training recruits and mercenaries. Reports from the CIA suspect that he hires them out to the highest bidder.Now here he is - involved in the most current round of peace talks?
"Who in the hell is this guy?" Terri shakes her head and looks at me. “He's damn visible for an ancient. Almost like he's purposely drawing attention to himself. I don't know. That’s not how Ancients act. They hide from the limelight. If I were more religious, I'd say he was Grigori."
"Grigori?"
She nods. "A fallen angel. They were said to be the most mighty demons on earth - set to rise up when the apocalypse neared, acting as Satan's minions in the final battle against Christ."
"You believe that stuff?" I can't keep the ridicule out of my voice. "I thought you were a scientist."
She shrugs. "I've seen too many cases of men with unnatural power -- power to alter the thinking and beliefs of their followers, seemingly able to manipulate matter and induce psychoses in their disciples. I've begun once again to believe in evil."
"I don't believe in God and I don't subscribe to any religion. Evil is just immorality. Conscious immorality."
"I'm a scientist," she says. "But there are things science just can't explain."
"Yet," I say. "Science can't explain it yet, but that doesn't mean we have to run to religion to explain it."
"Some of our advisors are members of the Church, Eve. I have to admit that I'm convinced there is more to this than what the science tells us and religion seems the best explanation."
I sigh, surprised by her admission. Soren didn't look like a demon when I met him. Other than the brief flash of darkness surrounding him that day at his compound, he looks like a competent military officer with very pale skin. I don't believe in angels any more than I believe the moon is made of green cheese. But If I accept the existence of vampires, why not fallen angels? That’s probably just a name we gave to a sub-species of humans with greater powers than other humans have. Like vampires.
"We'll have to contact Vasquez. He'll want us to go there," Terri said. "Eve, it's time you met him."
"Who's Vasquez?"
"Bishop Miguel Vasquez. He's the Eastern Representative for humans on the Council."
"Soren..." I hesitate, not wanting yet to tell her about the clay seal fragment. "He entered my dreams while I was in Montana."
"How do you mean?"
"I had a dream of him. He told me we're wrong if we think we know who he is. He gave me something. I think it's a clue to his identity."
"Why didn't you tell my this immediately? This is critical. You can't keep information back like this!" She sits down beside me on the sofa and waits for me to tell her the whole story. I go to my backpack and retrieve the small piece of pottery, ashamed that I've kept this from her. I tell her everything.
She takes the pottery in hand and examines it.
"We'll have to find someone to check this out. I’ll courier this over to Vasquez. He’ll have someone familiar with this kind of artifact check it out," she says. "Whatever this seal is, it's part of the case, not your personal property. Soren may have given it to you, he knows who you are so he gave it to us as well."
"I'm worried about Julien," I say to Terri. "I'm afraid he's under Soren's control."
"Julien knows him more than any of us. We have to trust that he knows what he's doing. If he doesn't, we're screwed."
I lean back and close my eyes. That worries me, too.
Chapter 19
“Love that is not madness is not love.”
de la Barca
We drive over to the Cathedral to meet with Vasquez later the next evening. He's a small man with dark close-set eyes framed by thick eyebrows. He's busy on the phone when we walk into the office. I scan the books in the bookshelves and some are so old, the bindings are falling apart. I sit beside Terri on a velvet couch. A cool breeze brushes my cheeks, flowing in through open leaded windows.
Vasquez sits behind his desk, hands clasped together, waiting for us to speak. On the desk in front of him is the piece of clay Soren gave me.
“Tell me about your trip,” he says after we’re introduced.
