Hell on High Page 14

  Chapter 37

  Rhea clicked the lock on the door behind her. Then she walked over to her desk and polarized the windows. She pressed the intercom button. "Hold all my calls," she told Jan. Finally she turned and faced Miramuel.

  "What's so important that you couldn't wait and tell me in my kitchen? You know what could happen to me if anyone sees an angel here."

  "Relax, Rhea," Miramuel said. She walked over to the couch and sat down, beckoning Rhea to join her. "I came in the front door disguised as your sister."

  "I don't have a sister."

  "You do now." Miramuel gave her a cocky grin. "Besides, no one is going to recognize me as an angel."

  Rhea sat. "Like no one recognized you as an angel back in 1428?"

  "That doesn't count," Miramuel said. "I wasn't working at it as hard then. And I didn't know Joan was that pure of heart. Besides, it turned out to be part of the plan for England and France to keep competing."

  "It counts, Mir," Rhea said. "I was in charge of getting the English to burn her at the stake. I didn't have any choice."

  "Well, after all, she made it to Heaven."

  "No one should have to get there that way."

  Miramuel hung her head. They sat in silence several minutes, looking out the window. "I am working at it today," Miramuel said finally, "and you didn't come home last night, Rhea. We didn't know if you were coming home tonight either."

  "Probably not," Rhea admitted. "Not to sleep anyway. So what do you want?"

  "We have a message for you."

  "From whom?"

  "Who do you think?"

  Rhea sat up straight. "No," she said, "He doesn't speak to me anymore," she smiled sadly. "I'm in a different chain of command."

  "Maybe you can't commune directly," Miramuel said. "Nonetheless, I am a herald."

  Rhea stood up and walked to the window. "So what's the message?" she asked. "'Come home, all is forgiven'? Not likely. What I said the other night still stands."

  Miramuel put her hand on Rhea's shoulder and turned her around. "No," she said, looking into Rhea's eyes, "it's just this: You've set forces in motion that are heading out of control. You still have time to stop what you're doing. You can make this project not work, and things will continue the way they are. Or you can continue on this stubborn, self-directed path you've chosen, but if you do, you'll have to take the consequences."

  "I've been taking the consequences for my actions for a hell of a long time," Rhea snarled. "And that's what this is really about, isn't it? He didn't send you to get me to come home. He sent you to stop me from helping them."

  "We're here to help you, Rhea. We're here to keep you from making a mistake. And it's almost too late. You're almost to the point where you won't be able to turn back."

  "I don't want to turn back. It's been a long time since I've done the right thing, but I'm doing the right thing now."

  "Then let me tell you something else. You know you're being hunted. We've helped some with keeping you hidden, but we can't do that forever. You can play here at being human for a while, but have you considered the effect that your playing is going to have when you aren't here anymore. What about the people who are working for 'Rheabeth Samuels' right now? Hmmm?"

  "What's that supposed to mean, when I'm not here anymore? Is that a threat?"

  Miramuel shrugged. "That's the message," she said. "That's all I know."

  Rhea studied the angel, who gave off an aura of stubbornness along with her usual faint glow of goodness. Mir was hiding something. Something about what she'd said had been wrong... really wrong... if only Rhea could figure out what it was.

  The out-of-kilter something didn't have anything to do with the Hellish force that was hunting Rhea, however. That remark was as honest as Heaven.

  Rhea closed her eyes for a moment, shivering. She'd felt Lucifer's hunters on her trail recently. Felt the vibrations of her name in the aether. She hadn't wanted to believe it, but she wasn't stupid. Someone was coming, and if she couldn't deal with him, she needed to have some contingency plans in place. She went back to her desk, and brought up the Bodeans on her office speakers. Then she spoke into the intercom. "Jan, get me our lawyers."

  Chapter 38

  A trace of smoke curled up and around Jack's face. It carried the sweet odor of rosin flux and he breathed it in appreciatively; it was the smell of success. The last connection cooled—he had a good join. He laid the iron down, checked his grounding strap and hefted the board in his hands, turning it over and over, checking it against the diagram one last time.

  Finally, he was satisfied. It had been a peak flow experience, Zen and the Art of Circuit Prototyping. He didn't know when he'd ever worked that fast before, or made so few mistakes, but it was finished, it was to spec, the real spec, and it was perfect. He looked over at the test trolley on the table. It would be so easy to take it over there and give it a try, see if it worked before possibly sharing another disappointment. But if it did work? I could never forgive myself if Rhea weren't here, he thought. There could be only one first time. He set the board down carefully on a sheet of static wrap and unhooked his grounding wire. There were solder flecks on his pants; he stood and brushed them off. He paused by the phone a second—should he call? No. If this were it, he wanted to tell Rhea in person.

  He waved to Jan as he hurried through the doors into Rhea's suite.

  She looked him up and down for a moment, grinned, and gave a low wolf whistle. "Hey, stud... how's it hanging?"

  He could feel the blush spreading down from his face in time with Jan's widening grin. When he was sure it must have reached his toes, she chuckled and looked away.

  "Well, shut my mouth," she said in a thick rural accent put on for the occasion. "Looking for Rhea?"

  "You tell me," he said. "You seem to know everything else."

  Jan mimed an arrow to her heart. "Cut to the very quick I am." Jack smiled in spite of himself. "So I'll tell you, since you asked. Yes, you are looking for Rhea. Yes, she is in her office. No, you can't see her yet; she's in there with our new lawyer."

  Jack shivered. Suits were bad enough, but suits with a law degree were an engineer's nightmare. "That rent-a-shark? What's she want with him?"

  "Don't know," Jan said, "but when there's blood in the water, you want one of those fins to be on your side." She considered. "They shouldn't be in there too much longer if you want to wait."

  Chapter 39

  "Good afternoon, Ms. Samuels," the lawyer said, and shook Rhea's hand. Rhea shook back with a little more strength than strictly necessary. "Ms. Stillwater sends her regards," he continued, wincing slightly. Caldwell, Markham and Stillwater were an old Raleigh firm—solid, but not to the point of ossification. After the Unchaining, when other firms were fleeing across the border, they stood fast, and eventually forged in court many of the unique features that came to distinguish North Carolina jurisprudence. They had never tried to cheat her, and while they billed their time at exorbitant rates, the accounting was full and accurate. In short, for lawyers, they weren't bad guys, and while Rhea fully expected to see most if not all of them in Hell at some point, she fancied they might take on the occasional pro bono case there.

  "Thank you, Mr. Markham." She smiled her professional smile, which didn't have the warmth of either her personal or her let-me-sell-you-something smiles. "I'm glad you could make it on such short notice. Won't you have a seat?" She gestured to the chair in front of her desk.

  Markham sat. "You indicated you wanted to discuss a matter of some urgency?" He opened his briefcase, took out an old-fashioned yellow legal pad, and laid it on his knee.

  "Yes. I do." She leaned forward across her desk. "First, I want to make clear that the social part of your visit is over, and that everything hereafter is covered under lawyer/client confidentiality. Agreed?"

  "Of course, Ms. Samuels." Markham raised an eyebrow and made a point of sounding slightly insulted. He tapped his fountain pen on his pad. "That goes without sayin
g."

  "Today, nothing goes without saying." Rhea sat back again. "You are familiar with the ownership structure of Celestial?" she asked.

  "Certainly. Ms. Stillwater briefed me thoroughly before I took on her client load. I have copies of your incorporation papers right here." He patted his briefcase. "Celestial Technologies is capitalized from a variety of sources, but sole proprietorship resides with you."

  "Exactly," Rhea said. "Unfortunately, I may not be around indefinitely, and I want to make very sure today that I control what happens to Celestial in that case. I don't want my company ending up split between those investors, or worse yet, trading publicly."

  Markham looked at her closely. "Are you unwell?" he asked. "Are we talking a 'death of the principal' situation?"

  "Never felt better," Rhea told him, realizing in surprise that it was the truth. She considered for a second. "The situation that I'm facing is... considerably worse than death." She studied the lawyer, trying to decide if the plaque on his coronary arteries had already hardened to the point where he would keel over dead with what she was about to do next. She decided that, like most tough bastards, he'd do just fine. "We need to discuss some matters about my... personal life... that could have an effect on shortening my future, and threatening the future of Celestial."

  "Ms. Samuels, have you been withholding information from us?" He sounded slightly exasperated, but resigned. "You'd be surprised how many people do. We cannot provide you full and effective representation and advice unless we have all the facts."

  "Be careful what you ask for," Rhea said softly, and dropped her human manifestation.

  Markham started. His pen point snapped beneath the weight of his whitening knuckles, and ink flowed in a steady blue stream across his pad and onto his pants. He didn't seem to notice; he was unable to take his eyes off Rhea. "Good God," he whispered.

  "That's a matter of opinion." Rhea stretched her wings and watched the dark illumination of her aura crackle around her. She felt odd being in her true form again. She could feel the power of Hell coursing through her veins once more, closer and stronger than her human form could ever handle. But this body didn't feel like her anymore. It was as though Averial had become the disguise, and Rhea the real person. She smiled ruefully. Would that it were so...

  Markham flinched at the sight of her smile, and she remembered the terrible, malignant beauty she presented as one of the Fallen. She resumed her human form.

  "Ms. Samuels, per-perhaps you need another law firm," Markham finally managed to sputter. His face was white, his lips were tinged with blue, and he looked a lot closer to that coronary than Rhea would have suspected.

  Rhea leaned back in her chair and crossed her legs. "Wrong answer," she said. "We have a contract, Mr. Markham. Legally binding to both you and me, drawn up with every line checked and approved by me... and I guarantee you I have much more experience than you do in looking at contracts... and dealing with people who break them." She got up and poured him a cold glass of water from the suite refrigerator.

  He stared up at her, wild-eyed. He would have made a lousy trial lawyer, she decided. He let things shake him visibly. He wasn't a good actor. He took the water with a trembling hand and drank it in one gulp. After a moment in which he tried to pull himself together, he managed to say, "You're immortal, so we're not talking a death of principal scenario here. What... what are we talking about?"

  Rhea stood by the window and looked out. "There are people looking for me," she said. "When they find me, there is a small but non-zero chance that I won't be able to fight them off. I think I can deal with them... but perhaps not. If they get hold of me, from a legal standpoint I might as well be dead. I won't be on Earth anymore. They might be able to force me back into working for... well. I might end up back here as someone else's puppet, forced to attempt to work against everything I've built. I need to make sure my company can deal with that, can withstand that."

  Markham wasn't getting it. She needed him to focus on her legal problem and he was still bug-eyed over her physical problem. "There are people who can push a fallen angel around?"

  Rhea sighed. "Count on it," she said.

  Chapter 40

  "Where do you get these?" Jack asked Jan, indicating the magazine he had been leafing through. It was an issue of Time.

  "What do you mean?"

  He held up the cover so she could read it: Nixon Resigns, the headline trumpeted.

  Jan considered. "I think they spontaneously generate," she said finally. "Every place I've worked, the magazines in the waiting room seem to average a print date about twenty to thirty years before the building was built." She paused a second and thought. "The worst I ever saw was when I worked in a downtown bank that was founded in 1893. I'd put out the current week's issues in the waiting room, and we'd end up with Picket's Charge and Gettysburg."

  Jack flipped some more. "This movie, The Sting, sounds like a winner. Maybe I should try and catch it."

  "Well," Jan said, "it's no Butch Cassidy and—whoops, here they come."

  The door to the inner office swung open, and Rhea and a very disheveled lawyer exited. The lawyer looked like he had been through the wringer. His tie was off and his collar was unbuttoned. He was carrying his jacket and Jack could see sweat stains under his arms. He looked back at Rhea like he expected her to bite him. What the hell had been going on in there?

  "I'll be in touch," the lawyer said, and beat a quick exit, zipping past Jack and Jan without noticing them at all.

  "Give my regards to Janet," Rhea called after his swiftly retreating back.

  "Well, you sure put the fear of God into him," Jan commented as the lawyer's footsteps double-timed into silence.

  "Hardly." Rhea laughed, though if that had been a joke, Jack didn't get it. He gave up further speculation as she turned The Smile on him. "Hi, sport," she said, and his knees weakened. His brain calmly considered how incredibly well his life was going at that particular instant. His body was looking for a flat spot big enough to fit two people who didn't intend to lie still. He heard Jan's giggle and was aware that she had nonchalantly stepped back several paces. He felt the heat rise in his face. "Um... hi, Rhea," he said. That sounded lame.

  "Yes?" she asked, obviously enjoying his discomfiture. Suddenly he was able to enjoy it too; was able to see himself standing there like some tongue-tied teenager. He savored the feeling for a moment. After all, how many men got to be fourteen twice? Then he pulled together the trained engineer and said, "The drive is ready for testing. Would you care to attend?"

  "Most definitely," Rhea said. "Give me ten minutes." He stood there while Rhea did Rhea things in her office and Jan tapped away at her keyboard. After what seemed like an eternity, Rhea came out and waved him on.

  Everyone was in his office. So that's what Jan had been doing, typing a summons into the on-line bulletin board and e-mail system. And Rhea must have known. He looked around. If it didn't work, and this many people saw the drive fail—instead of just hearing that it hadn't worked—that was it for Celestial. He would kill morale deader than disco.

  He glanced at Rhea, and she nodded at him and gave him an encouraging smile. This was what she wanted. She thought having everyone in to see the drive work would boost morale.

  She believed in him.

  Jack cleared his throat. "Okay, folks—" He made his way to the test table. "I think you all know what this is," he touched the trolley lightly, and it rolled soundlessly on its new rubber wheels. "And I think you know what this test means. Either this trolley moves on this table, or we've gone to a lot of trouble to build the world's largest model rocket." He paused and indicated the power switch. "Ms. Samuels, would you care to do the honors?"

  Rhea shook her head. "It's your baby now," she said, "and you've got ten centimeters dilation. I think the time has come to push."

  Jack nodded, his throat dry. He positioned the trolley on the starting mark of the scale etched into the table, and checked the cables carefull
y to make sure their drag would be at a minimum. The board was fully seated in its slot, all the new connections he had made still looked nominal, and the power supply ready light was glowing a friendly green. He could feel the tension in the room building like the static charge before a lightning strike. Jack gripped the toggle switch firmly, and caught Rhea's eye. Caesar, we who are about to die... he thought, and flipped the switch.

  There was a brief whoosh, followed by a deafening crash that nearly knocked him off of his feet. Someone in the back of the room shrieked, but Jack hardly heard. The trolley was not on the table, in fact the trolley was not in the room. There was a trolley-sized hole in the cement wall of his office, under the window. There was no other sign of the trolley except the settling masonry dust. "Well, call me Dick Seaton," Jack breathed, somewhat awed by what he had just done.

  "Drive from hell," one of the other engineers opined in the stillness of the aftermath. Jack saw Rhea wince as the office erupted in pandemonium.

  Chapter 41

  "So... those were some of the boss's old associates?" Mindenhall asked Glibspet the next morning.

  "Yeah, wanted to know where he was," Glibspet said, pouring himself a cup of strong brew from the office's Mr. Coffee. He passed a cup to his assistant.

  "Thanks." Mindenhall added a spoonful of sugar and stirred. "So what did you tell them?"

  Glibspet shrugged. "That he had started a puppy farm in Chatham County last I heard."

  "Is that true?"

  "I think so—he doesn't talk to me much anymore. It wasn't what they wanted to hear, though."

  Mindenhall looked troubled. "I thought they couldn't hurt us," he said.

  "Define hurt," Glibspet said. He took a sip of his coffee. A little bland, he thought, but he doubted Craig would take well to some of his favorite flavorings. "It didn't hurt me to be doused with Karo syrup," he continued. "And if I ram my nuts into the edge of the desk trying to get away from them, well, they didn't do that, did they?"