CHAPTER V

MARCH OF THE DWARFS

The Imps were intent on bringing the United States to its knees.  Under direct orders of Santero, they were instructed to rage an unholy war against every organization that had been created to do good in the world.  Every organization that provided employment, detained criminals, aided the distribution of food, provided medical care and clothed people was to be disrupted.
Victor had kept one of the Imps for himself.  It was the one that Lubato had chosen to inhabit.  The Imps were designed and capable of attaching themselves to any phone line, cable and accessing any computer code from anywhere.  Although most central processors were equipped with anti-virus programs to prevent tampering, the Imps were able to override the protection process so as not to be identified as a virus until the harm was done.  Most of the Imps were determined to attack the large data backup dumps located all over the United States because most large companies frequently did information dumps to different locations so as not to lose their entire systems.  The Imps' attack was to be unilateral and system wide.
The evening after killing Mitch Houston, Victor scheduled a seance.  As it was about to start, his Imp began to speak to him.
"You know who I am, don't you, Victor?" Lubato spoke in his small voice.
"Yes, my little buddy," Victor said, smiling and happy that even if it was just a machine, the little guy really did seem to have an affection for him.
"No," Lubato said, dropping his tone of voice deep like Darth Vader, "I am not just a toy boy.  I am Lubato, ruler of the Small Ones and you have been chosen by our master Santero to make sure we carry out our mission."
"Your mission," Victor wondered.  "What kind of a mission?"
"We are to disrupt the economy and destroy those who do good, who attempt to allow the Son of Man, the spawn of the Mighty One, back to this earth.  We must destroy those communication devices, the systems that feed and clothe these human vermin and the institutions that protect their money.  They all must be eradicated.  Check there on your PC.  Go ahead, enter IDES OF MARCH.  You will see our top 500 targets.  You are to make sure that directors of those companies are given Imps through their children."
"What happens to me?" Victor asked, punching up the information and watching as his printer began to print out the information with laser speed.  "Am I to be given a position in this new, unholy world order?"
"Yes," Lubato said, "you will rule in the very Shadow of Evil.  You see, we're all pawns of Santero.  We all do his bidding.  Now bring me to your seance.  I wish to participate."
At that moment, the body of Victor went limp.  It was as if someone put a spell on him and totally blacked out.  The voice of Santero spoke through him.
"The one does not realize the power that dwells within him, Lubato," Santero spoke rubbing his hands together in anticipation.  "You will make sure, of course, Lubato, that all your Imps are located at these places.  The United States has been known too long as the supplier of aid to most of the world, the breadbasket, the world savior.  Well now I will bring it down.  I will make it a curse.  Instead of bread, I will bring worms.  Instead of healing, disease and death.  Those organizations that dare reach out to the world and teach people the ways of the Mighty One will find themselves bankrupt.  Come, I want to show you how I want you to train the Imps."
Santero sat down at the computer and let his hands flow over the keyboard until he came up with a letter written at lightning speed on Breadbasket USA stationery.  It read:
Dear Sponsor,
We no longer need your donation.  The child you were sponsoring has been found to be utterly devoid of any spiritual or economic benefit.  Please save your twenty dollars.  We have decided to wrap up shop.  We will be giving dividends to our longtime employees.  Myself and my staff will be using the 40 million dollars we have stashed in Swiss numbered accounts and going on a nice, long trip.
Yours truly,
Frederick Gombers
"Now attach yourself to that coaxial cable and wire me into the hard disk storage for their headquarters."
"Yes," Lubato replied, attaching the cable to the end of his arm.
Within moments, Lubato was able to dial up the Breadbasket USA headquarters and find his way into the main computer storage terminals.
"I have entered their mainframe," Lubato answered.
"Good," Santero smiled, "now send that letter to their sponsors and watch what happens.  We'll see how many continue to sacrifice to feed and clothe children from third world countries when they find out that the people in charge are just growing richer and richer."
"Your idea is brilliant," Lubato responded.  "The humans are fools.  They will believe any story told them because by nature most of them never pray.  They are just waiting for others to make mistakes so they can devour them."
That night when Victor slept, Santero left him and assembled the Fallen from around the globe to make sure the destruction he had planned would attack the Mighty One on all fronts.
In the cavern beneath the earth, they gathered: his right hand, Cadaver, rotting with the smell of dead flesh, who oversaw the worldwide pro-abortion cause; Prothesus, guide to all who practiced adultery and fornication; Dahalla, who specialized in New Age theories; Archinot bringing inter-city mayhem; Maduke, who helped cause mass hysteria and panic; Marmorphis, who made sure humans never were able to distinguish the truth from falsehood; Octonoo, who sphered the music leaders of the world who had sold their souls for worldly fame and led untold millions after them to a fiery eternity; Anthrax, a being whose chains captured hearts in the memories of past pains and hurts; Stinger, who controlled the journalists and made sure fear was pedaled in every paper and magazine; Dominion, who brought a sense of false pride to the world's wealthy; Saphiro, who made sure those with most of the world's wealth never truly did any acts of kindness but became hoarders; Matush, who controlled those who found themselves jealous of others; Sensemilla, arch warrior of Europe, who pushed for country-wide suppression of the Mighty One's salvation; Daccanno, deceiver of those who forsook their own lives and went into Hell obliviously; Sawtooth, who made sure those who received medication became hooked on it; Coontobo, guide of racial prejudice and genocide; Demondo, deceiver to those who practiced cruelty to the animal kingdom; Domoncoltes, purveyor of the black arts; Rubio, who caused the wealth of the world to appear attractive; Incendiary, the spirit behind those who practiced acts of terrorism; Bibliontec, who ruled in the false schools of upper learning, deceiving those who sought wisdom for their own pride, removing far away from humbleness; Ichobod, imprisoner of the living dead, those who had decided there was no Creator; Gordiuoso, who made sure those who indulged in food became hopelessly bound to it; Rahil, who sought for more and more power for those who wished to subjugate others; Nefrotities, who imitated females and brought the spirits of homosexuals in complete bondage; Wol and Gund, organizers of the Small Ones, who loved to cause mayhem that resulted in death and injury.
They were all there as Santero pranced before them, his hands dripping with blood from those lives he had consumed, eyes filled with terror.  His voice screeched with uncontrollable rage.
"The time has come for us to make our worldwide move.  We will smash the Mighty One's followers till their hearts melt within them.  We have begun our move to destroy their fund-raising and giving efforts.  Matush, you need to prevent those who wish to spread the news of the Christ to the lost in China, make sure they cannot speak, cannot distribute any of their literature.  Marmorphis, make sure those who buy the existing Bible companies, change the translations and the original meaning.  Octonoo, elevate your followers to control the masses in the third world countries who worship the wealth and talent of those whom you rule over."
"Santero, great ruler of all the darkness," Octonoo spoke, trembling, hoping that his gamble wouldn't result in pain, "I have conceived of a way to subliminalize recordings and I need help from Rahil and Nefrotities to bring the young under the influence of the ungodly."
"I will cooperate," Rahil spoke.  "I have a score to settle with the Mighty One's warriors.  What is it you have in mind?"
"I control many who operate large recording and pressing plant facilities," Octonoo spoke.  "I need you to bring me those who can subliminate the messages so even the most innocent of songs will alter the ways the young ones tolerate sin amongst themselves."
"That should be no trouble to us," Nefrotities laughed.  "Humans are not able to distinguish the truth from a lie.  They believe what their own lusts propel them to believe."
"Santero," Archinot spoke, rising to his feet and stretching out his huge mantis-like hands, "I am bringing an aura of chaos to the city of Hong Kong.  The millions who will soon be under the domination of communism, I am spurning them to hate the followers of the Mighty One.  I need reinforcements, for the warriors are everywhere and sorely outnumber us."
"You shall have it.  Saphiro, make sure the Mighty One's followers become boastful and proud.  Dahalla, cause them to seek after new and foolish theories.  Prothesus, make sure your literature is delivered to all of the Mighty One's followers.  Corrupt them.  Yes, Archinot, you are standing at the threshold of half of the world's population.  We can't afford to let them hear or see the good news lest they turn away from following their idols and follow after the ways of the Mighty One."
"Oh, magnificent ruler of all," Contoboo spoke, "I am stirring those who wish apartheid to remain in effect throughout South Africa.  Send me some of the Fallen who can assist me."
"I will go," Incendiary spoke.  "I have made sure my followers have destroyed the city of Belfast and much of Lebanon, Bosnia and Croatia.  South Africa shall be no problem.  We will rock the country with such fury, they will flee the cities leaving destruction behind."
"Oh ruler of the darkness," Cadaver stepped forward out of the shadows, "your plan, oh Lord, to release the Imps again is most, most brilliant.  I have already turned the hearts of men to accept the deaths of the young ones.  There are few left who believe abortion is wrong and I am ready to assist you in making sure our Small Ones disrupt not just the economy of the United States, but of the world.  Bring on the famines, the crying mothers with no milk, the fathers who scour the garbage dumps, the murderers who eat their neighbors, those who hoard the foodstocks."
"Yes, Mighty Father," Delmondo said, "let them fall prey to the same animals they have abused."
"Bring out the insects who will reign supreme and bring the planet to a state of nothingness where we alone will rule again.  Safe from this spirit of love and the attack of the Gods of War," Stinger added.
Stinger's horde were fitting with wicked wasp style barbs.  They had only been allowed out of the bowels of the earth once before and were anxious to return and terrorize humanity.  Santero, unhappy with the progress made by his human host, Victor Ramirez, arranged for them to pay another visit to teach a lesson to all.
Victor felt compelled to go to the Carlsbad Caverns and meet with a distractor, the head of the El Paso West Texas Coven, Ty Hardy, a lanky ex-rodeo star, whose womanizing and drinking while on the circuit had made him a favorite for beer and jeans commercials.  He had multiplied his wealth by investing in computer chips and owned a sizeable company, Integrated Wave Technology.  He had been storing the bulk of the Imps and had arranged for his tech crew to break down the design.  He discovered that they were more than just circuitry, and within each of them dwelled a "Small One."  It didn't matter to him.  He felt that his own spirit guide, Rockaway, game him a special edge in business and personal life.  Except for the billions of dollars at his disposal, he felt no different.  He wanted to make the final payment on the Imps so he brought along a sizeable suitcase filled with cash.  The caverns were closed after six and Glen Jenkins, one of his ranch managers who managed the security staff at the caverns, had arranged to let him use the place to make the final payment.
Underneath the earth, Victor looked around at the stalactites and stalagmites and breathed in the cool, damp air, letting it fill his lungs.  "My kind of place, Ty," he said, eyeing the case.  "You need a hand carrying all that cash?  Sort of nice final payment."
Ty looked around.  "Don't think of it as final payment.  We're developing our own prototype.  I asked some of the women from my coven to come up.  They should be arriving any minute.  During the days, they work at Only Yours Nude Cabaret.  You should find them much to your liking, unless you've gone the other way," he added with a slight flick of his wrist.
"Yeah," Victor said, "really likely.  There they are now."  Ten girls dressed in scarlet red flowing robes walked down the stony path to where Ty had drawn a pentagrammed chair.  Victor felt fear flowing through his veins.  The false confidence and unleashed power from Santero's inhabitation had left him hopelessly frightened.  "Hi ladies."  He flashed a weak smile, trying to keep his false bravado.
Stephanie, a dashing redhead, began a tribal type dance chanting incantations, throwing her luxurious hair all around.  A small fire was lit in the middle of the pentagram and they joined hands and summoned the spirits of the Fallen to walk amongst them.  Out of the stone, a shadow seemed to grow, casting its jagged lines on the rocks.  It brought with it a freezing wind from a void in space where no light or warmth existed.  The coven's hands grew wet with perspiration.  It was a manifestation none of them had ever expected.  The being that appeared before them was more horrifying than any one of them had ever imagined existed and they were unable to move, unable to react--paralyzed.
"Greetings and salutations," Santero spoke, his huge hooves making the very earth shake.  "You have all been chosen to be my emissaries.  If you obey me, you shall enjoy unparalleled riches and power.  If you don't, you shall die with unbearable anguish."  Santero opened his hands and held forth Stinger.  "This is Stinger.  He and his kind shall track you down if you disappoint me.  One of you already has failed to implement my plans in a timely fashion.  Victor Ramirez, step forward."
Victor had no intention of stepping forward, especially to be tormented.  He wasn't ready to spend his life in Hell.  He wasn't ready for death at all.  A million thoughts raced through his mind and he tried to command his feet to move.  Before he could move them, the coven grabbed him and carried his near rigamortised body and put it in front of the towering figure of Santero.  The light from the fire made Santero's already red eyes glisten even brighter.
The coven looked on as Santero latched onto Victor's arm with a vice-like grip.  "You remember me, don't you?" Santero grinned.  "Only you didn't know before just who it was that inhabited your miserable body.  Well, you've proven incompetent and incapable of fulfilling my wishes and it's time to make an exit.  Stinger here will see you through to eternity."
The pain shot through Victor's arm as if a sadistic nurse had shoved a red-hot poker into his bone and broke it off, leaving it to fester.  His eyes rolled back in his head and he comprehended for the first time that he was going to die.  He flung himself off the rock ledge into the waiting stalagmites, greeting death with open arms.  As his spirit rose from his decimated body, blood flowed everywhere as if it was the floor of an Omaha slaughterhouse.  Victor experienced a breath of freedom came and he thought himself invincible.  He hadn't a care in the world and found he could actually fly because he was weightless.  He tried to touch himself and realized that although he could see himself, he was of no real substance.  He saw a black shadow approaching him.  Archinot of the Fallen had come to bind him and take him to his eternal abode.  Victor attempted to flee, realizing it was futile.
"You're coming home with us," Archinot threatened, tightening the chains around Victor.
"Wait!" Victor demanded.  "I've made a lot of friends and served your master well.  There is work undone that I must complete the last of."
"No waiting," the demon responded, clamping chains about his neck.  "Your eternity begins now."
They made their way down through the labyrinth of tunnels and Victor could feel the heat emanating from the very bowels of the earth.
"It's warm down here," Victor said.  "I don't find it to my liking."
"We care not for your likes and dislikes," Archinot mimicked, turning the final corkscrew into the Chamber of Eternal Death.  "This is your new home, Victor."
"Noooooo," Victor screamed as he was pushed headfirst over the precipice into the molten lake where his mind would forever torment him with regret.  He looked around for someone else but he was alone forever.
# # #
Mia, uneasy with being cooped up on the long flight from Hong Kong to San Francisco, looked up from reading her Bible.  Next to her sat one of the most beautiful girls she had ever seen.  Long blonde hair, on the tray in front of her sat a glass of champagne.  Mia caught a quick glimpse as the girl sniffed some white powder, trying to hide it by quickly wiping the residue off her nose.
"I'm just nervous, that's all," the girl spoke.  "My name's Tammy.  I finally get to go home after three weeks in Bangkok shooting a B movie.  I thought I'd never get through it."
"I'm Mia," Mia said, holding out her hand.  "You ever read this--the Bible?"
"No," Tammy answered, shaking nervously as her adrenalin pumped from the surge of the cocaine hitting her bloodstream.  Instant euphoria.
"It's the Bible" Mia explained.  "It tells you how to get through life without depending on that stuff--cocaine.  Look here, Jesus said, `I've come to give you peace, not as the world gives.'  And here in Matthew 11, verse twenty-eight, `Come unto Me all you who labor and are heavy laden and I will give you rest.'  Here in John 14, verse twenty-seven, `Peace I leave with you.  My peace I give to you, not as the world gives, give I unto you.'  You can do all the cocaine in Colombia but you'll never find peace.  `There's no peace for the wicked.'  You'll be looking for peace for rest.  You can go to the most remote island, be on the biggest yacht, by yourself up in a balloon floating over the earth, but you'll never find rest.  Only God gives rest.  You've got to make your peace with Him.  Right now you're separated from Him.  You're in rebellion."
"How?" Tammy asked, her inner heart telling her to listen--that she was hearing words of truth.  "I don't know God.  I don't even know if there is one."
"Know God, know peace," Mia explained.  "No god in your life, no peace either.  Jesus died for your sins, your rebellion.  He's the bridge between mankind and God.  If you want to have a peace that's so great you don't even understand why you have it, the world can fall apart around you, and in your heart you're content, no panicking.  Then get off the control seat.  Let God take control of your life.  Make Christ the Lord of your life."
"All I know about Christ is that he was a good man and died on Easter."  Tammy questioned, "Why would he make a difference to me?  It was thousands of years ago."
"Yes," Mia said, "it was thousands of years ago, but He triumphed over death, He rose on the third day, His tomb stands empty today as a testimony to His resurrection.  No other religious leader has an empty tomb.  Their bodies died with their words.  Only Christ proved His word by resurrecting from the dead, and now He is in heaven where you can see him.  Only, you have to turn away from your bad deeds.  Whatever you've done--fornication, drug abuse, murder, lying, cheating, stealing, disobeying your parents, wanting someone else's possessions, unkind words and thoughts--it's all sin and displeasing to God."
"Not a day goes by without me sinning.  You're like listing off my life."
"Not just your life," Mia explained.  "All of us have sinned and fallen short of God's standards.  I'm just as guilty.  It's just that I, well, I made a conscious decision to forsake my own ways and thoughts and accept Christ and His sacrifice for my sins.  It's changed me.  A lot.  I was full of hate, fear, prejudice, greed, lust and now I'm full of peace."
"I'd like that myself," Tammy acknowledged.  "How can I find God like you have?  I feel eons away."
"It's nothing," Mia smiled, taking her hand, watching as Tammy's eyes began to water.  "You don't have to try and reach God.  God has already reached down to touch you.  Why don't you repeat after me: Dear God, I am sorry for my rebellion, my secret sins and those things I have done that I consciously knew were wrong even as I did them.  Please, oh Lord, forgive me.  I believe that Jesus not only died for my sins but rose from the grave, proving to me that He has the power to forgive my sins.  Accept me now, God.  Give me the wisdom to find out more about you and the courage to follow you whatever the cost may be."
Mia gave the girl her phone number and promised to stay in touch, thanking the Mighty One for the blessed opportunity to lead a sinner to Christ.

CHAPTER VI
CALL MY NUMBER
Lubato had learned that there were other ways to destroy mankind than by random acts of violence.  As a "Small One," he had come to realize that there was only so much he could do to ring misery to individuals, definitely not enough to make the kind of cataclysm he desired.  He emulated Santero and modeled his plan after Santero's.
Lubato arranged for himself to be transported to Denver, Colorado where Benny Rickelstein, son of Donald Rickelstein of U.S. West Communications, ruled over the telephone company of Western America.  Donald was a businessman who preferred to spend the weekends skiing in Vail with his family and do much of his office work from the security of his own house.  Lubato gold hold of the customer list and systematically arranged for all of them to be sent disconnect notices.  He managed to disconnect all the banks and sent a panic through the cities of Albuquerque, Denver, Salt Lake City, Phoenix, Tucson and Colorado Springs, as people were no longer able to contact their banks to see if their phone company checks had been paid because the banks' phone systems were shut down.  All the data transferred over phone lines was bottlenecked and no one could figure out where the trouble started.  Lubato was just testing his theory and had even bigger plans--plans that would create mass panic and confusion.
"Benny," Lubato challenged, "take me to visit your father's office again.  Please take me and I'll tell you a secret."
"I don't know," Benny questioned.  "Last time we went, you messed with all the computers and Dad blamed me.  What are you so interested in anyway, Hokie?"
"I need to learn, to serve your family better," Lubato lied.  "I need more and more knowledge.  Don't you want to graduate top of your class?  If I know the phone systems, I can tap into your teacher's home computers and find out the test right off their disks.  No one else will have the information but you.  You'll always be number one."
Benny was physically unfit.  Potbellied, he was never invited to play sports, never invited to go to parties.  His full involvement in John D. Roosevelt High was playing trombone, an instrument he detested.  He wanted to be number one, to have something everyone needed.  He quickly agreed.
"Okay," Benny said, "we'll go down after school but there's one condition.  Nobody else knows our little secret--not even Jerry and Donna.  And I know how you love to blab.  Is it a deal?"
"A deal," Lubato said.  "Scout's honor.  You take me down.  I won't tell anybody."
Lubato had determined to find his way into the system that controlled computer data between utility plants and monitoring centers.  It was freezing cold and he knew if he could get some of the utility plants running at a lower capacity, by fooling the monitoring stations that power was coming from elsewhere, by the time they discovered what had been happening, there would be a big brown-out and hundreds of thousands would go without electricity.  In the Rocky Mountain area where it got to as much as 70 below with windchill, it meant one thing--death.
# # #
Mia arrived in San Mateo, adjacent to the San Francisco International Airport and was immediately driven to her company office where she reviewed the quarterly reports.  She was surprised when the private number in her office rang.
"Mia," Bruce said, surprised, "I see you've come in from Hong Kong.  I wasn't sure.  I thought maybe you'd call me for a ride from the airport."
"I didn't want to bother you," Mia stated.  "You're busy and I just thought I'd call you tomorrow.  I missed you."
"What are you doing at your office so late?" Bruce inquired.
"It's not late for me," Mia laughed.  "I'm still on Hong Kong time.  What day is today here, anyway?"
"It's Monday."  Bruce looked at his watch.  "It's late and everything, but I wouldn't mind coming by and seeing you.  You need a ride home?"
"No, I don't need a ride home," Mia said tenderly, "but I will let you give me one.  It's been so long since I've been in my place here, I'm almost afraid to go back.  Memories aren't very good."
"Time has a way of leveling everything," Bruce added.  "I meant to ask you, have you put out those Imps?  One of the kids at the school told the teacher about a toy that sounded like an Imps.  I thought maybe you had Brian working on a new version of the Imps."
"No," Mia said, surprised at the question.  "How are Brian and Alice?"
"They're fine," Bruce stated.  "Neither of them ever misses a Sunday at church.  He's working with some of the street and gang kids.  They donated computers and he's teaching them basic computer skills.  We've got over a hundred grand of computers at the grade school.  You know he started his own business, don't you?"
"When?  What's he doing?" Mia asked, curious to what had happened to the inventor of the Imps and the most brilliant scientist she had ever met.
"VIRODON.  It's big time.  He designs anti-hacking programs and helps detect computer viruses.  He's doing pretty well.  He's repping all the big utility companies and banks and has over one hundred people working for him.  Look, rather than talk, I'll just drive over."
Bruce wasn't real proud of his car.  As the minister of a church with three thousand in the flock, he could have afforded better than a 1990 Dodge Shadow, but he didn't want the have nots in the congregation getting jealous.  He knew Mia was used to the best, but figures if she really had feelings for him, she'd take him just as he was.  There was nothing he could do to impress her anyway.  She had done it all.
Bruce walked down the hallway of her office, anxious to catch a glimpse of her.  She was seated at her computer looking over some computer mail with a stock of unopened envelopes and one opened that was next to her.
"Hi, Mia," Bruce stated, walking across the room to greet her.  "You look great."
"Oh sure," Mia frowned, "after an eight-hour flight.  I don't think so."  She kissed him.  "But I'll take the compliment anyway."
Bruce stepped back, still embracing her.  "And I'll take the kiss anytime.  You ready to go?  I thought I'd take you to get something to eat.  I know a great place that serves all types of salads and they're open late."
"Wait!"  Mia looked through her desk.  "I want to show you something."  She pushed a letter in front of him and he glanced at it.
"You're kidding.  The whole warehouse full of Imps has been pillaged."  Bruce put the letter down.  "I thought they were all damaged by the salt water when Brian Phillips lowered the container into the harbor.  Why would anyone want them?"
"Maybe a lot of them weren't damaged," Mia stated.  "We just took the insurance check.  We didn't want to distribute them after the test when those kids were trying to murder their siblings after being programmed by the Imps."
"I talked with Customs agent Robert Fretz earlier.  It was an employee theft.  The guy was arrested after he killed some people in a Christian house in Anaheim.  They locked him up and someone shot him on the way to court.  The whole thing sounds bizarre."
"Yeah," Bruce sighed, "it sounds like Santero is back with vengeance.  I'm going to call a prayer meeting.  Who knows what havoc these Imps are planning?  Mario's got some friends with Set Free.  Why don't we go down there with Brian and Alice?  Maybe we can find out some answers."
As they were speaking, the earth began to shake and a few pictures started coming off the wall.  Bruce grabbed Mia's hand and led her to the door jam where they waited it out.
"Must have been a minor one," Bruce said.  "I believe the time of the return of the Son of the Mighty One is near.  Crazy things are happening all in fulfillment of Bible prophecy."
"We don't have much time to get the word out.  You know, if Santero is going to attack anyplace, he's going to attack the supply line.  If he can destroy the finances of those financing the Mighty One's worldwide message, then millions will perish, ignorant of the salvation that is theirs just for the asking."
"Let's go pay Brian a visit.  If anyone will know who to do, he will."
Brian and Alice Phillips lived in a beautiful home in Hillsborough, San Francisco's premiere bedroom community.  The lawn was nearly three acres and planted with lush forest vegetation, evergreen pines and redwoods.  The home, modest by Hillsborough standards, was nearly four thousand square feet, English tudor style, three stories high.  On the roof was a widow's walk where they could view the city lights from.  Bruce had called them to make sure they were home and they drove over.
As they got to the door, they were greeted by the sound of barking dogs.  Brian opened the door and it looked like a scene out of One Hundred Dalmatians.  Their two dogs, Giner and Roger, had just had puppies and they had decided to keep them--all eight of them.
"Come on in," Brian greeted.  "Alice is getting ready.  She had a housecoat on.  You know women always want to look their best.  Anyway, she'll be right down.  Can I get you anything--diet soda, iced tea?"
"How about some hot tea?" Mia requested.  "I like your place.  Bruce tells me you have done really well for yourself."
"Still haven't gotten a degree, but only a half a year away.  Thanks again for having the police go so easy on me.  If you wouldn't have, I'd be over in Soledad.  Who knows what I'd be doing.  I shudder at the thought."
"I'll be right down," Alice called out from the stairway.
"Alice, would you get some hot tea brewing?  We're all going in the den," Brian stated.
Brian's den was wall-to-wall books: encyclopedias, botany, zoology, mathematics, as well as old collectibles from Disney, Edgar Allen Poe, Sir Francis Drake.  He had quite an impressive collection of leather bound books towered up nearly ten feet with several ladders."
"Wow!" Bruce stated.  "Quite a library."
"Yes," Mia nodded in agreement, "quite an accomplishment for one so young.  My grandfather used to say, `He who reads lives in two worlds--the past and the present'."
"What did he mean by that?" Brian asked.  
"I don't know," Mia said.  "He smoked a lot of opium.  In never really made sense out of many things he said.  It probably meant you walked with your ancestors and could learn wisdom from them.  We should get right to the point.  For some reason, someone has stolen all the Imps.  Both containers are gone from the dead storage locker they were in.  What we want to know is how to keep them from destroying us."
"It's a sure bet that Santero's behind this.  Mia talked with one of the Customs officials.  The person who got them out of the warehouse sold them and then gunned down seven people with a Christian ministry in Anaheim.  He was later gunned down himself.  We're going down to check out what happened.  But in the meantime, what can you do?"
"I don't know.  Basically, I used the same microprocessor design for the Imps that I used for Louie.  I redesigned Louie for my anti-virus company.  It wouldn't be hard for anyone with half a brain to do the same thing to the Imps.  Virtually if those things are controlled by Santero, they could shut the whole country down, especially one hundred thousand of them.  We can defend our customers' systems from people transferring viral information, but if they all had access and tapped into phone lines, they could destroy our airlines, hotels, transportation, credit systems and banking.  Do you realize the amount of money that goes from account to account every day just with Barclay's Bank in Northern California?  Over a billion a day.  If those systems had to be shut down and constantly reprogrammed, the losses would make natural catastrophic losses seem like chicken feed.  Do you have proof that these things are out there?"
"Yeah," Bruce said.  "Even somebody in our church.  Their kids got one at a swap meet."
"Mia," Brian asked, "did you do those adaptations that allow the Imps to go on-line with regular phones?  I never saw the redesigns."
"Yes," Mia sadly replied.  "It was the last modification we did prior to shipping them over."
"There's no human way possible we're going to stop these things."  Brian put his hands up in the air.  "Can you get hold of the one from the family at church?"
Alice pushed open the door and brought in a big silver tray with tea and snack sandwiches.  "Hi everybody," Alice beamed.  "Sorry it took so long.  You like our house?  Great, isn't it?"
"Beautiful, Alice.  I love the way you've furnished it.  These antiques are gorgeous."
"They're from my family's home in New Hampshire," Alice responded.  "When my father passed away, I had them put in storage, but since then we've got a place for them now."
"They're old," Brian beamed, "but they're quite something.  See that Chippendale couch?  I saw it listed in the antique guide for thirty-five thousand dollars.  That Sheraton sideboard books at fifteen grand.  And the nice thing about them, we didn't have to pay those prices."
Mia looked around as if to absorb everything.  "This is a lot of possessions for one so young to have acquired.  Make sure, Brian, that your possessions don't possess you.  My grandfather used to say love people, not things."
"Brian," Bruce said seriously, "we really need a plan to keep these toys in check.  You remember what they did the first time around, brainwashing those children."
"Yeah," Brian pondered aloud, "we just don't have any idea when they're going to be on-line.  I've still got my virus in them active at 15 and 30 thousand hertz, but triggering it, we'd have to get on every radio and broadcast facility in the country and phone lines as well and then only those in earshot would even be de-programmed."
"Is it even possible?" Mia said hopefully.  "I feel responsible for these things.  It's like they're the devil's spawn and I'm the mother."
"It's hardly your fault, Mia," Bruce tried to calm her down.  "Santero has kidnapped the hearts and minds of many who are ignorant of his many schemes.  Remember, he's been around since the Garden of Eden.  He knows every human weakness and even the weaknesses of the guardians.  He's been exploiting them for years.  The weapons of our warfare aren't just carnal, they are spiritual.  This battle has got to take place up there before it's even going to take place down here.  Remember, Thy kingdom come, Thy will be done, on earth as it is in heaven.  The earth is the Mighty One's and all power is His.  Every knee shall bow before Him and fall in subjection to him.  Even Santero must bow before the Creator.  We are His hands, His feet, and we must win this fight.  If we don't, millions will be led blindly into the Lake of Fire."
"Aren't you being a little melodramatic?" Brian stated skeptically.  "We can hardly be responsible.  What happens happens.  Who's to say we are powerful enough to really have an impact?  What if the Mighty One doesn't care what these computer demon infested toys do?"
"If He didn't, Brian," Bruce looked at him with compassion, "then he would be a liar and no different than Santero.  The only reason people even think the Mighty One doesn't listen to them or answer prayers is because He has more than one answer.  He's not going to say yes to a prayer if you're not ready for it.  Many times his answer is no or later.  Patience is a building block of character.  Say you are asking for success.  Well, if the Mighty One knows your success is going to make you egotistical and treat other people poorly, then because He loves you, He's going to say no, wait, and in the meantime, He's going to bring situations in your life that build your character.  Sometimes a no answer is better than a yes."
"Don't get me wrong, Bruce."  Brian scratched the back of his neck.  "I'm not saying that the Mighty One doesn't answer prayer.  What I'm saying is He does what He wants regardless.  He is the all-powerful one.  Whether or not Santero wins over billions of people and they thumb their noses at the Creator, He's not going to be shaken off his throne."
"I beg to differ with you, Brian," Alice spoke.  "He did get off his throne to die for our sins.  So He is concerned and wants the best for all of us.  It's a big difference, Brian.  I think we should start a prayer chain for this.  We don't want these little creatures destroying this country."
"In my land alone," Mia spoke soberly, "if America was to not help with gospel literature, most of my kinsmen would die ignorant that so great of salvation is available to them.  China has slept for years.  Many, many people, over fifty million, were murdered for their faith.  We owe it to them to make sure those who remain have the tools to let their countrymen know about Jesus.  We can't let the economy of the United States be destroyed."
"I think the best thing for us to do is drive down and start investigating.  Maybe a lot of these things are still holed up in a warehouse someplace.  It's worth a try."  Bruce looked at Brian.  "You in?"
"Yeah," Brian said, "let's get packed.  We can take my Range Rover.  I've got a whole office fax machine telecommunications, even a small satellite dish set up in it.  It'll be our command vehicle."
"Great," Bruce said.  "I'll go home, get packed and we'll be right back, say in two hours?"
"We'll be ready," Brian said, looking at Alice.
"I'm going," Alice said.  "I can take a few weeks off of school to help steer this country from disaster."
"That's my wife," Brian beamed, "a regular Lois Lane."
Brian reached in the desk drawer and brought out a lobster, put him on the table and turned a switch.
"Greetings earthlings," Louie the lobster spoke.  "I have been in hibernation.  It is good to be back in the land of the living.  I guess I'm just going to have to claw my way to the top again.  What have I missed?"
"You haven't missed anything, Louie."  Brian pointed out his friends.  "We have visitors and I wanted you to say hello."
"Hello, I'm Louie," it spoke.
"I'd shake your hand but I'd like to keep all my fingers," Mia cracked.  "I'm Mia."
"My, I love that fragrance.  Jessica McClintock, I believe.  Come closer so I can really smell it."
"Hi Louie," Bruce spoke.
"Hi Reverend," Louie cracked.  "Let me know when the next clam fry is at the church.  Maybe I can catch up on some news of my old friends."
"Well," Bruce answered, "we don't have clam fries--just fried chicken."
"For all the dumb clucks, huh?" Louie jested.
"Louie, I know it's not your fault, but some of your jokes are old as the hills."
"I only have you to blame," Louie answered.  "My illustrious programmer, whenever he wants to change me, he just pulls me apart, keeps me in stitches."
"Really, Brian," Alice said exasperated.  "Why don't you just go into comedy instead of always using Louie for your alter-ego?"
"Because," Brian said seriously, creasing his forehead in mock disgust, "if the jokes go flat, nobody boos me.  If they work well, then I . . . I feel pretty good."
Brian picked up Louie and took him over to the computer.  He ran some wires and ran Louie into the computer.
"Now Louis is on line," Brian said, turning on the computer.  "Any decent hacker can infiltrate almost any system.  The computer just keeps running combination of codes and passwords until it's in the system.  Then it can send any type of information it wants, bringing entire systems into confusion, except most corporations are smart enough that they have software that recognizes viruses, foreign, unfriendly information.  However, if thousands and thousands of viruses were programmed in and entered, the odds that some would get through and throw systems into chaos are greatly multiplied."
# # #
Uzziah, Ballelulia, Rufel, Ahtel and Gothos looked upon the Circle of Light as they returned to an audience before the Mighty One.
"I'll never see anything like the beauty of this place, Ahtel," Gothos spoke.  "Just coming near here fills my being with light."
"I know what you mean, Gothos," Ahtel spoke.  "The Mighty One has indeed prepared a place for those who love them.  Why, if they could just take a glimpse, they would realize that the meager possessions and fame they seek after are nothing compared to the glory of His kingdom."
"Some do realize and have given up their earthly possessions to follow His call," Uzziah spoke.  "I have been privileged to be guardian to those who were put to death and yet they saw this glory before them, not the flame that consumed their flesh."
"Even now the besieged saints in China are still being put to death," Ballelulia echoed.  "Do you think the Mighty One is about to answer their prayers and send forth a revival that will shake their very foundations?"
"I know He loves them," Rufel said.  "He has His own timing.  He doesn't always let us know.  We are His to command to travel upon the threads of eternity to do His bidding.  I wouldn't trade my mission for anything except to be always by His side, but to leave to seek out the lost and lonely, it is doing His will and fills me with wonder and awe."
"Look, there are the gates still as high as ever," Ballelulia spoke.  "And there is our commander, Michael, coming to welcome us both."
From a distance the view was beyond imagination.  The pearl gates extended some thousand feet into the air ringing about the place as if it were a gigantic pearl necklace.  To anyone with natural eyes, it would have appeared just a blinding light.  But for those who had inhabited the Circle, their eyes had grown accustomed to its brilliance and they welcomed it as if being released from a dark dungeon.
"GREETING," Michael thundered.  "The Mighty One has instructed me to bring you into His presence immediately.  He has something of grave importance to discuss with you.  Come, follow me."
Michael stretched out his wings, which in earthly measurements were over thirty feet in span, and launched himself toward the throne.  Below them they looked upon the throng of worshipping people from every tribe and race, people no different from the ones they were guiding, only resplendent in their glorified bodies, free from worry and disease.  Michael took them over the crystal river which cut a path through the middle of the city.  On all sides were luscious trees and there were children and adults playing and frolicking.  It was a happy moment for all of them.
The weariness they felt from battling the Fallen on earth disappeared as if it was drained out of them like sludge from an engine that has seen too many miles and too much neglect.  The purified waters flowed through their veins, filling them with light and love.
As they grew close, the music rose in intensity and as they landed before the throne, the worshippers settled into a quiet hush in respect to the Mighty One's need to give directions to His guardians.
"You have all been chosen for a glorious task, the task of insuring that our gospel reaches throughout the whole earth.  The actual task of taking the news has been left to our followers who reside on earth, but you must protect them with all diligence.  Their enemy lies in wait to destroy and kill them and prevent them from carrying out My purposes.  Ballelulia, the two whom you rule over, Brian and Alice, are precious to Me.  I have thought only good thoughts about them and have planned for them to have a glorious life as they dwell closer and closer to me.  Ahtel, there are many in the Golden State who will witness a miracle I am planning.  My witnesses will grow and the death power of the gangs will be dealt a mortal blow.  Uzziah, we all miss you here, but your mission is important.  Make sure the enemy is unable to destroy the finances of my followers and wreak havoc on the computer systems that so many of them depend upon for the governing of their finances.  Gothos, work closely with Uzziah and keep him from being overwhelmed by the evil forces that will pit themselves against him.  Rufel, you are being reassigned to China where you will assist Raphael, Eclete, Thelonius and Armurian.  You need to establish protection for the emissaries from the state and from Hong Kong.  All of you go into the winds of the earth.  Go forward in My name, in My power.  Let your ways be hidden to those who wish evil and let your hearts be filled with My love and compassion.
# # #
Down in the dungeon, the very bowels of the earth, where lost souls scream in anguish, lava bubbles and belches forth, its wretched sulphur smell, Santero held court with Lubato, the leader of the Small Ones.
"You haven't much time," Santero said.  "The Mighty One surely with catch wind of our plans and when He does, who knows if we will achieve our true victory.  How many of the Small Ones have you managed to place in key positions?"
"Not as many as I would like," Lubato responded.  "America is decentralized.  It is hard to deal a fatal blow when their information systems are so diverse.  We have been working on the banks, religious charity organizations and have even made some inroad in the phone systems.  The humans we were depending on for distributions of the Imps have proven most rebellious and many are too drugged to really do us much good.  Their kingpin, Spider, is content to fornicate and load his nostrils up with the cocaine powder."
"Maybe it's time to show him something supernatural.  Let the Small Ones that he has in the warehouse show him our power and then perhaps he'll pay more attention to our needs."
"Yes," Pubato grinned sinisterly, "it will be my pleasure."
# # #
Brian and Alice started their drive down to L.A. with their baby James in a bumper seat.  He was fast asleep and Brian looked over the seat at Bruce holding a sleeping Mia.
"She's pretty tired from the flight out, huh?"
"Yes," Bruce smiled.  "Fourteen hours in the plane.  I've got to confess I really don't know where to start."
"In my bag on the floor, pull out the program.  I took advantage of my contacts with the bank's entrance codes and pulled up some records on that Mitch Houston.  He made several hundred thousands of dollars of deposits.  I tapped into the microfisch and did a quick scan of the monies that were deposited and came up with several checks from an Easy M Motel account on Labrea, 5611 North.  Well, I didn't figure they were paying him thousands of dollars for any security work, so I accessed the state sales tax records and pulled up some information on the owner, Morris T. Hendrick's, police record.  It's a mile long.  Nothing much on him lately except an address and a list of some of his properties.  I figure it's as good of a place as any to start."
"You are a genius, aren't you?" Bruce said in admiration.
"Only on some things," Alice chipped in.  "Just look at his socks.  If he picks them out, they're totally different colors."
"Yeah right," Brian quipped.  "I can't tell what color they are because when you wash them, you just throw them all together.  Pink, chartreuse, I've got socks that look like they're tie dyed--holdovers from the psychedelic sixties.  They're tripping and can't decide what they want to be."
Alice glared at Brian.  "Discussing my laundry habits is getting a bit personal.  I'm just making a joke."
"I am too," Brian replied, "only some people are better at dishing it out than eating it."
Mia stirred from her nap.  "My grandfather used to say, `He who airs dirty laundry wears dirty clothes'."
"Mia," Bruce said, concerning, "if I were you, I'd forget everything your grandfather ever taught you.  It makes absolutely no sense and it's hardly what one would call profound."
Mia raised her eyebrows and pulled away from Bruce.  "Well, Mr. Bruce, what did your grandfather teach you?"
"He taught me to fish.  He said, `anybody that learns how to fish will never starve'.  Only problem is I grew up on Lake Erie and shortly after I learned how to fish, all the fish died.  So, see, I don't really give a whole lot of importance to his words."
"I never met either of my grandfathers.  They were long gone by the time I was born.  I heard all about them.  One loved money and one loved women and neither had much use for anything else.  At least that's what my mom and dad told me," Alice spoke.
"My grandfather Phillips is still alive.  He runs an old lumber mill up in the Catskills.  We're going this summer to get away from all this technology and go back to nature.  No running water, no phones or modems.  We're just going to hole up and help him with the mill."
"Brian, if I know you, you'll try to get him to computerize the whole place and have robots running it for him," Alice said.
"I swear I won't," Brian said indignantly.  "I've got no interest in changing everything.  I'm so sick of always looking at the computer screen and designing programs.  I'm looking forward to being away from them all.  It'll be a relief."
"Speaking of relief," Bruce said, "I need relief.  Pull off at the next gas station, will you?"

CHAPTER VII
THE LIVING AND THE DEAD
Spider woke up from his sleep itching for some nose candy.  He didn't remember how he had developed such an appetite for the stuff, but he knew he didn't want to live without it.  He didn't like to sleep anymore, but after being up for days on end, he just wore himself down until his body just collapsed.  His nostrils bled profusely.  He had dropped about twenty-five pounds and had absolutely no appetite for food.  His eyes, once clear and light, bugged forward in the sockets like he was under a constant electric shock.  His once handsome do was ragtag and unkempt and he hardly bothered to even iron his clothing anymore.  He had heard about Victor's disappearance and decided that whatever had made Victor disappear was going to make him disappear as well.  In short, he was terrified.
Many of the toys he kept in the abandoned thrift store on Martin Luther King Boulevard, closed after businesses were looted after the Rodney King riots.  His uncle Clement Stone owned the land and Spider paid him a thousand a month to use the storage area.  It made it easy to move things in and out with the loading dock.  Spider had rigged the door with automatic openers so he could pull his Mercedes right inside and conduct business from his mobile office.  He had made the deal for the Imps but had pretty much decided he didn't like what they were all about.  Something about them made him feel uneasy and he could never get away from them fast enough.  He knew he had been sitting on the inventory too long and was anxious to get rid of it.  He had so much money just buried in trunks and in foreign banks, the nearly million dollars he had spent on the Imps seemed meaningless to him.  Something inside him was pushing him that morning, pushing him to go down to the warehouse and check on his inventory.  He decided to save the wear and tear on his nostrils and take a hit directly off the pipe.
He pulled the drawer out on the night table at the Easy M, ignoring the Holy Scriptures.  He had ignored them so long, their existence seemed meaningless to him.  When Spider was a boy he had attended Crenshaw Christian Center with his widowed mom, Gladys.  Every Sunday like clockwork she had dressed him in his one good navy blue suit, put a white short and tie on him and walked him the three miles to hear Rev. Fred Price expound on the message of the cross.  All Spider could remember, though was the fancy clothes and the expensive cars in the parking lot.  He remembered looking at the minister's gold watch and alligator shoes and swore to himself that no matter what he took, he was going to have the symbols of success just like the Reverend.  His mom pretty much forced him to join the youth choir but he didn't like to get too close to the other kids and let them see just how poor his family was.  He knew most of the kids lived in nice houses in Lemert and Hancock Park while he was tuck in the projects where many of the apartments were rate and cockroach infested and when a window got broken, a piece of cardboard was just shoved in front of it.  He never asked anybody home and hated where he came from.
When Yannick Metcalf drove up to the projects in a sleek Olds Grand Prix with Cragar wheels and a 400 watt stereo beating out Party Train by the gap band, Spider got himself an idol.  He worshipped the ground Yannick walked on and when Yannick told him he didn't need any more of the white man's religion, his mom could no longer make him go to church.  He started out as a runner, just doing errands, taking small amounts and picking up money.  He worked as a lookout for bigger deals and eventually became Yannick's right-hand man, pistol whipping late paying customers and procuring young women for drugs.  Yannick had an insatiable appetite for female flesh.  One morning he picked up Yannick in his new Corvette bought for cash from a car dealer who was happy to profit downline from the drug trade and sold him the car out the back door--no questions asked.  Yannick walked across the street to get in his car and Spider watched in shock as he was gunned down by a few Vietnamese who were moving into their territory.  Spider saw that it was over and floored his car before they killed him as well.  Spider had learned everything on the streets and knew he had to retaliate or he'd find himself without a territory and without a ready source of income.  He had made his mark in South Central.  The same Spider brought a chill down many spines.
Spider hopped in his car and pulled up to Al's Guns & Pawn and ran in throwing three grand on the counter.  Big Al walked to the front of the store, locked up and took him into the basement where he kept his automatics.  Spider bought five Uzis and enough bullets to take out the entire red army.  He put them in a duffle bag and drove down to Younger Middle School where his buddies were playing basketball.  He pulled out another wad of cash and about six of the regulars saw their chance to get even with the Vietnamese.  They jumped in an old Chrysler and followed him.  They pulled up in front of Ho Lin's laundromat where Jimmy Ho Lin's parents made their meager living.  They burst in with the machine guns sending the customers scurrying and Su Ho lin into the corner begging for her life.
"Where the hell is Jimmy?" Spider had asked, putting his own forty five to her head.
She wouldn't talk to the Viet Kong and she wouldn't give up her own son to an American drug lord.  She knew he was selling drugs and hoped he would get out of it.  They kicked in the back door and Jimmy was sitting at a table playing cards with several of his friends.  Spider shot him through the head, and when his friends scrambled, diving for cover, they were cut down.  Then Spider walked up to the mom and put the gun to her head.  He pulled the trigger but knew it was on an empty cartridge.  He touched his index finger to his lips and coerced her into keeping quiet.
That night he had a hard time sleeping.  He had enforced and beat a lot of people, but he had never taken someone else's life.  The feeling of revenge was exhilarating yet made him feel dirty and sluggish, and when he picked up Tanya and tried to forget about the slaughter by having sexual relations with her, it didn't work.  Every time he closed his eyes to kiss her, all he could see was the wide eyed terror on the face of Jimmy Ho Lin as he sent him headfirst into eternity.
Those were just a few of the incidents that drove Spider to see solace on the tip of a crack pipe.  His conscience that had at first screamed at the evil he was perpetrating had been buried so deep that it had become deaf and dumb.  Unheeded for so many years, its echoes and instructions bounced unheard off the recesses of his drug-stupored mind.  There was no longer any question of right and wrong, good and evil.  He wanted to survive, to rule, to amass as much money as he could.  Nothing else mattered.  Suitcase after suitcase was heavy with hard currency.  Routinely he would pull out the cases of money and admire them.  Once when he was so ravaged with his gold fever, he had made love atop a fortune of nearly twenty million dollars.  The girl had thought him crazy and went away wide eyed with more money than she had ever seen.  He was insane, yet driven to amass more and more, even though they why had escaped him.
He pulled his black Mercedes 560 out onto Stocker and headed up the hill to the warehouse.  It was still early and he didn't care about speed.  One hundred and twenty felt like a dead stop to him.  His mind was racing so far, anesthetized so completely by the cocaine.  He hit the opener and drove into the warehouse.  Just a glimmer of light from the front boarded-up window permeated the warehouse and he wondered what he was hearing.  The Small Ones had turned the Imps on and were all singing mock Sunday School songs.
"Do Lord oh do Lord, oh do remember me," the tiny voices cried out in mock jubilee.  "Do Lord oh do Lord, oh do remember me.  Do Lord oh do Lord, oh do remember me.  Look away beyond the sea.  I've got a home in glory land that outshines the sun.  I've got a home in glory land that outshines the sun.  I've got a home in glory land that outshines the sun.  Look away beyond the moon."
Spider rushed over and tore open one of the boxes.  Tiny luminescent eyes gleamed up at him.  The voice of Juro, one of the Small Ones, taunted him.
"You've abandoned us, Spider," Juro tormented.  "We want our freedom.  Take us out of this warehouse."
"How do you know my name?" Spider questioned in fear, reaching for comfort to the 45 he kept strapped beneath his Italian glove leather jacket.  "Who are you?"
"Let us free," the voice of Uno spoke.  The Imp began to levitate out of the box and float in midair.  Three other Imps in the same box began to float in the air.  Spider took his gun and fired off a few shots at them.  The shots went wild and they grew closer to him.
"You must deliver us to families," Uno spoke.  "We have a mission.  We are the Small Ones.  Our destinies are not here in this warehouse.  We are to bring down this land."
"I'm impressed," Spider said, realizing that it was futile trying to shoot them.  "But why don't you all just fly on out of here?  Look, everybody involved with you all is dead.  I don't want to be dead.  Besides, I'm not a delivery driver and who do you think I should deliver you to?  There's a zillion of you here."
It was true Spider had no idea what to do with the boxes of Imps.  Victor had moved half of the ones he had sold and there was a limit to just how many you could move through the black market.  Anthrax planted a thought in his mind.  Christmas was only weeks away.  Why not distribute them tot he free toy drive headed up by Rosie Greer?
"Yeah," Spider said, the light switching on.  "You'll all have homes for Christmas.  Now be good, get back in your boxes and shut up.  Santa's little helper will take care of everything.
Spider lost no time dialing local charities, and that afternoon trucks began showing up from Salvation Army, Rainbow Girls and Boys Home, Jesus People, Trinity Broadcasting Company, Rosie Greer's Children Outreach, Tim Storey's Mission to the People.  Everyone was happy with the gifts, and to keep things up and up, Spider got donation receipts from all of them.
Tom Stricker pulled in with a twenty-four footer rented by the Marine Corps for their children's toy drive.
"Right there," Spider point.  "Take as many as you want.  We've got to dump the whole inventory."
"What are they?" Tom wondered aloud.  "Can I see one?"
"Sure," Spider thought aloud.  "Why not?  Do you have kids?"
"Yeah," Tom spoke, "twin boys, the terror of the neighborhood.  My wife died a few years back and I've been raising them myself.  I've got my own moving company."  Tom opened the box and looked at the Imp.  "That thing looks pretty strange.  You call it an Imp?"
"Yeah," Spider said, looking at his watch, wanting to be rid of all of them.  "Look, can you take them all?  The rent on this warehouse has been killing me.  I promised the landlord I'd have it cleared out."
"What do they do?" Tom asked.  He turned one on.
"My name is Gunny," the Imp spoke.  "What's your name?"
"I'm Tom," he spoke.  "Tom Stricker.  What do you do?"
"I'm an integrated microprocessor.  An Imp," Gunny spoke.  "I can help you speak any language and I'm a ready store of a vast amount of intelligence.  More information than the Encyclopedia Britannica.  Ask me any question.  I will tell you no lie, Tom."
"Okay," Tom thought, testing the little machine, "what animal runs faster?  A leopard or a gazelle?"
"The gazelle is able to run longer distances faster than the leopard which can only sustain its speed of forty-five miles per hour for short periods of time."
"Look," Spider said, tapping on his watch.  "Would you please just load these things up?  We've got to get this warehouse empty."
Tom got the point and within a half hour had his truck full with the remainder of the Imps.  He gave Spider a receipt and was closing his rear doors when he noticed Spider's forty five.
"Rough neighborhood, huh?" he said curiously.
"Yeah," Spider mocked.  "It's so rough, you never know when somebody's going to want to mug you.  Here," Spider said, pulling off a few hundred, "you take your twins to Disneyland, Magic Mountain, Knott's Berry Farm--wherever.  Kids only live once.  Don't be working your life away."
Several of the Imps were taken home by the volunteers for their own children.  They quickly acclimated, and against their very nature, refrained from inducing the children into committing violent acts against one another, knowing that the time of their revenge was drawing close.
That night the Small Ones left their host bodies and gathered in the Skull Room, a huge chamber in the bowels of the earth, where they were addressed by Lubato and Santero.
It was the most hideous collection of deformed creation that had ever been assembled in one place.  The former cherubs were distorted beyond imagination.  Many had grown fangs, talons, oversized ears, bat-like features, elephant trunks.  They had taken many of the forms of the very statues they had inhabited for centuries.  None had even an inkling of their former glory when they served as the choir in the Circle of Light lending their beautiful, tiny voices to the thunderous praise of the Mighty One.  Lubato stepped forward.
"Greetings, Small Ones.  Praise and salutation to our leader, the great worker of iniquity, the usurperer of the divine, the Created who will rule in place of the Creator, our only Father, Santero."
The applause and cheers were deafening.  It sounded as if a thousand wasp hives had been broken open and they were buzzing madly out of control.  Santero arose--ten feet tall.  Huge ram horns protruding out of his skull, fangs adorning his thick, black lips, he stood erect on hooves and thundered.  
"I have a dream.  A dream that the earth shall be once again a void and the vermin that the Mighty One has created shall not walk upon it, but we the rightful possessors of all creation shall alone walk upon it.  I have a dream that my followers, you the Small Ones, placed in a position of obscurity for so long, bound and chained, shall rule beside me, tormenting those whom the Mighty One, the weak loving Creator, has made, casting them under your feet and showing them who it is that shall inherit the earth and the very universe.
"I have a dream that those who carry out the wishes of the Mighty One upon the planet shall find themselves subject to us and our wishes.  And those who guard them, the very guardians assigned to them by the Mighty One, why instead of binding us with the Light Bands, they shall fall to these very bowels in disgrace and defeat.  Even Michael, who through trickery, cast us out of the Circle of Light, our rightful home shall be bound here along with the Mighty One and his Christ.
"I have a dream, and you all have been summoned here to carry out that dream.  My dream is your dream.  Death, destruction, terror, fear, lust, power, hatred, anger, violence, murder, lying, stealing, profanity, jealousy, maiming, starvation, abortion, famine, disease.  These are our trademarks and now through you all.  Through the Imps we can wreak havoc on this earth as never before.  Once we have destroyed the backbone of the Mighty One's economic power, we shall destroy His followers and then we shall destroy all humanity and bring them in subjection to us.
"This is my dream.  You may call me made.  You may call me a visionary.  You may call me a genius.  You may call me Father.  You may call me, the undoer of all that is holy, the wrath, for I am who I am.  Santero, Lord Of All.  The true Creator of Free Choice.  Yes, made by the Mighty One, but made even better than they are.  The Son, the Christ, cowers before me.  The followers tremble in terror at my presence.  We are legion, we are unstoppable, we are the triumphant ones.  Go back to the homes that you have been given.  Remember the day of destruction is at hand.  The day when all who rule in my name shall indeed say, `Santero rules'."
The Small ones began to chant, "Santero, Santero, Santero, Santero, Santero, Santero."
They flocked to the stone where Santero spoke, and thousands of them picked him up and bore him about the Skull Room, showering him with praise until his pride was satiated.
# # #
Brian, Bruce, Alice, baby James and Mia checked into the Century Plaza Hotel on the Avenue of the Americas in the heart of Century City.  Brian liked the fact that the rooms were equipped with fax machines and the phone system operated independently of the hotel.  It gave him more leeway for his tracking.  They ordered up room service and decided to begin their search the next day, getting much needed rest for Mia.
James was teething and woke Brian and Alice up several times during the night.  Ahtel came in to visit him and comfort.  James would smile each time the large guardian touched him, the way only babies can smile.
Brian knew something was happening around him but didn't know what.  He couldn't go to sleep and laid awake wondering how many and success had become so important to him--so important, that he was willing to do anything to get it.  He thought about the times he had come home late, ignoring James and Alice.  He thought about the importance he had placed on each of his possessions, neglecting church, Bible reading, prayer and fellowship with the Mighty One.  He decided that things were going change.  He decided to honor the Lord above all else.  As he lay in a semi-conscious state, drifting in and out of sleep, a still small voice began to sound within him.  It was the voice the Mighty One used to call to those whom He loved, whom He missed.
"I have heard the cry of your heart," the voice spoke.  "I have missed our times together.  Yes, even as a mother years for the cry of her firstborn, so I have yearned to wrap the arms of My everlasting love around you.  You are indeed precious in My sight.  Don't be afraid to come to Me with your weariness, for only when you cast your burdens down at My feet, can I answer them."
Brian drifted off to a refreshing sleep while his guardian angel stood over him pleased that he had decided to draw closer to the Mighty One.  Alice reached over to him and put her arms around him, comfortable in the knowledge that on this earth she had someone to share her life with, someone who loved her and to whom she could direct her love.
That morning they had breakfast.  They noticed a few rather well-recognized faces from a popular television series, and then they all piled in Brian's vehicle to begin untangling the disappearance of the Imps.  For want of a better start, they decided to head to the Easy M.
"Take La Cienega, Brian," Alice said, looking at the map.  "What are you going to do when you see this guy?  I mean, with an arrest record like that, he's sure to be dangerous."
"Yeah," Mia said, "you've got the baby with you.  Aren't you a little worried?"
"No, not at all," Brian said.  "I don't really think he lives at the hotel, but hopefully someone will know where he is and when we find him, we'll just offer to buy the Imps back.  This time, we'll take them to a recycling plant and watch until they are all pulverized."
"Good idea," Bruce spoke up.  "These things remind me of the Terminator when it couldn't be destroyed.  Or Jason from Halloween, always coming back to haunt you.  I don't know about you, but I got word from Denise at church that everyone's been praying and victory is ours."
"No," Alice said, "victory is the Lord's.  We're just going to participate in the battle."
"I like the way you put that," Mia spoke.  "Takes a lot of weight off of my shoulders."

CHAPTER VIII
GUNS AND ROSES
The Easy M overlooked a fairly desert stretch of road, at least for L.A., where ten million people crowded in like beans in a can of vegetable soup.  Traffic was light on the Saturday morning when Brian pulled his Landrover up into the parking lot next to the Black 560.
"Wait here," Brian said, letting himself out.
"I'm coming with you."  Bruce jumped out.  "We're in this together.  You've got a plan?"
"Yes," Brian said, "if he's here.  I'm going to ask him where the things are.  He should have some kind of a record.
"What if he refuses?" Bruce looked at him, questioning the wisdom of Brian's actions.
"We make him an offer he can't refuse.  Let's try this door."
Brian knocked on the door.  It was partially opened and opened the rest of the way when he knocked.  Spider was in the bathroom mainling coke and couldn't tell whether the knocks were real or some type of hallucination.  He untied the rubber hose, touched the forty five under his belt and walked into the bedroom.  The television was on pretty loud.  He looked and saw two white dudes standing in his living room.
"What the . . ." Spider said, drawing his gun.  "What are you two doing in here?"
Before either of them could answer, Spider pulled the trigger and Bruce pushed Brian out of the way, being grazed in the shoulder.  Spider took another shot and they crawled low for the door, knowing that if they didn't move quickly, they'd both be killed.  Brian looked at Spider's face and could see the contortions.
"So Anthrax," Balleluliah spoke, slashing out with his sword to deflect the fiery darts, "you still haven't learned anything about who lives and dies."
"Yes," Anthrax sneered, "maybe today is your day to die too."  He cast a barbed spear, wounding Ballelulia on the right shoulder, causing him to drop his sword.
Brian and Bruce ran for the car.  Brian threw it into reverse.
Spider came to the door and fired off several shots as the Landrover began pulling out of the parking lot.  Alice threw herself over their baby and Mia pulled Bruce close just as a bullet pierced and shattered the glass window beside her.  It entered her neck and she fell to the floor in a heap.  Bruce was in shock with his own loss of blood which had started pouring from his shoulder wound and he barely noticed that Mia wasn't saying anything or moving.  As they pulled out onto Stocker, Brian hit the gas and watched in his rear view mirror as Spider raced out into the street and began firing off more shots. 
He told himself it was all a bad dream.
Alice turned around to see how Bruce and Mia were and let out a scream.
"Brian, stop . . . ." Alice said, nearly going crazy.  "Mia's not moving!"
"We'd better get to a hospital.  They pulled up to the stop light and Bruce looked out at an elderly man about to cross the street.
"Sir," he said, holding his wounded arm, "do you know where there's a hospital?"
"Sure enough do, son.  If you let me in, I'll show you how to get there right quick."

"Okay," the Major said, "thanks for the demonstration."  He stood up to shake their hands.  "But I can't do anything about it.  I can't wreck Christmas for thousands of kids just to keep these things from going out.  I think it's pretty cute.  What did you call them, Imps?"
"Yeah," Bruce said, "really cute.  More like your worst nightmoare.  We'll let ourselves out."
They walked down the hall.  Bruce turned to Mia.
"Cute," Bruce said.  "He thought these little murderers were cute.  Ignorance comes in all sizes."
"Yes," Mia smirked, "it sure does."
The Pentagon was a huge, sprawling building that housed the key decision makers of the military industrial complex.  One of the key players, Brigadier General Max Reinhold, held a position that few knew about.  He was in charge of the chemical warfare division.  His office approved the toxic weapons that were developed and how they were dispersed.  At Thanksgiving time his son had brought home an Imp and he had brought it into his office to show off and had never taken it back.  Max named the machine Mr. Ed after the famous talking horse, not knowing its real name was Lubato, the ruler of the Small Ones.
For several months, Bob Hesselmeyer from UNID Chemicals had been on his back for approval and testing of their latest chemical weapon, C 211.  The highly potent gas rendered one's adversaries unconscious even at one part per million.  It was effective both epidermally and airborne.  Max didn't particularly like chemical warfare.  The effectiveness was hampered by the long-range negative repercussions, tumors, brain damage, birth defects, and he had seen first-hand in VA hospitals around the state the results of the Agent Orange defoliant and the Iraqui nerve gases.  He puffed on his Havana Royal cigar wondering how he was going to turn Hesselmeyer down and still keep receiving the excellent cigars which he had grown to relish, easily worth fifteen dollars apiece.  His secretary rang him that Bob was waiting in his outer office and he turned to Mr. Ed and shot him a question.
"What do you think of this chemical warfare, these tests, Mr. Ed?" he asked.  "Does it surprise you how many ways mankind comes up with to kill one another, yet we leave over half the world to go to bed hungry?"
"No," Mr. Ed responded.  "Superior strength, superior weapons, less casualties."
"I suppose you have a point."  The General turned his attention to Robert who was carrying a portable television into his office.  "Afternoon at the movies, Bob?"
"No, I just got back this footage from the C 211 test in Jerusalem.  Would you take a look at it before you give me your final decision?  I think it will win you over."
They watched the footage as an Israeli soldier was bombarded with rocks.  The camera panned to a group of Palestinian protestors.  "Now watch," Bob spoke.  "You'll see a cannister of 211 launched at the crowd."
Within moments the protestors were on the ground.  Not one was moving.  The soldiers were cuffing them and carrying them into paddy wagons.  Robert turned off the video and looked the General in the eye.
"You've never seen anything like it, have you?  One dose and everyone's out cold for four hours.  Complete mop up, no body count."
"Impressive," the General said.  "How do the people dispersing it keep from falling asleep?"
"There's an antidote they take orally.  Totally negates the effect."
"What are the side effects?"
"Headache, cramps, not much else.  Look, General, why don't you arrange a test right here in Washington this weekend?"
"What?  On the people watching the tree light up on the White House lawn?"
"No," Robert laughed, "you're not serious, are you?  A bonafide test--the anti-abortion rally at the Washington Monument.  They're planning a massive sit-in on the 24th when traffic's at its worst.  Last time there were about fifty people badly injured.  Use C 211 no one will be injured.  All the people will wake up in the slammer where they belong for disturbing the peace."
"No side effects," the General voiced his disbelief aloud.
"No, not one."  Robert stood up.  "I've already spoken to the Major and Chief of Police about it.  A routine approval by your office is all that's needed.  They've been trained on how to use the stuff.  Believe me, without it, they're not looking forward to the almost certain violence.  What do you say--in the Christmas spirit?"
"I'll draft up a permission letter right now," the General said.  "Superior strength, superior weapons, fewer casualties."
"That's how we look at it.  How's Mr. Ed doing today?"  Robert glanced over at the Imp.
"Ask him yourself."  The General stood.  "In fact, make yourself at home for a few moments.  I'm going to use the washroom while my secretary drafts up the permission slip."
Robert's eyes turned green.  One small letter of permission and he could sell the product to every single National Guard Armory and most of the governments throughout the world.  Billions.  He was unaware that his company was owned by an evil mastermind who had no intention of saving lives.  Yan De Klerk, a Dutch scientist, had been designing chemical weapons since the first mustard gases were used.  The more potent C 111 had no antidote and no recovery, its victims fell into a coma so deep that their hearts stopped working altogether.  He had conducted his own experiments on civilians in Ghana.  Five hundred had died while watching a local soccer game outdoors.  Because of the remoteness of the town, no autopsies had been done.  Everyone had just assumed it was another unusual African plague.  De Klerk was pleased with the results and was hoping for a larger test group.  He had watched over the efforts of Robert Hesselmeyer with keen interest and was planning on being present when the crowd was sprayed down.
The power behind Van De Klerk was the spirit guide, Kirrilli.  He first met him at a clairvoyant's residence in Amsterdam where he had gone to search for his departed mother.  Kirrilli had mimicked her voice through the medium, and Van De Klerk, so impressed by the hocus pocus, he invited the spirit guide to direct his own life.  At first it was mentally uncomfortable for him making room for another being, especially one so demanding, but he had learned to take a back seat and let the spirit guide direct him.  It was the spirit that showed him the formula for C 111 and C 211 and gave him the idea of poisoning masses of people.  There was only a slight molecular difference between the compounds which could never be discovered by a normal autopsy.  The C 111 was missing one molecule of carbon, which caused the brain to trigger off indefinitely and led to death.  Kirrilli, who answered only to Santero, was anxious to try it out and the opportunity to do so on abortion demonstrators was doubly delightful.
# # #
Denise Hauser, Bruce's secretary, had arranged for a group of concerned Christians from the Bay Area to charter a jet and fly to Washington D.C. for the anti-abortion rally.  It wasn't their intention to condemn anyone, just to make a stand that they were pro-life and wanted to let the government know that they didn't want any of their tax dollars funding life-terminating operations.  A group of 400 of them boarded the 747 for Washington.  Along the way they chatted, sang songs and prayed.  Denise felt a heaviness in her spirit.  A true confrontation with the principalities and power of the Fallen Ones was imminent.  She turned to the Mighty One's word and began to read the words of Christ who said, "Go into all the world and preach the gospel to every creature He that believeth and is baptized shall be saved and these signs shall follow them that believe.  In My name, they shall cast out devils and they shall speak with new tongues.  They shall take up serpents and if they drink any deadly thing, it shall not hurt them.  They shall lay hands on the sick and they shall recover."
She didn't know why, but she decided to personalize the words of Christ not only for herself, but for all in her group.  She knew oftentimes the rallies got violent as pro-abortionists threw garbage, human waste, cursed and tried to cause the peaceful marchers to return hate for hate and evil for evil.  She knew many of the policemen were going to be intent on doing them bodily harm.  She knew it was worse to sit back and do nothing while so many innocent lives were snuffed out by the abortionist's scalpel and saline.  She reached inside and felt the power of the Mighty One flowing through her and was comforted.
# # #
The whole way to Washington on the beltway Police Chief Darryl Mansfield wondered if testing out C 111 on protestors was really the right way to handle it.  He knew the Constitution guaranteed freedom of speech, which meant peaceful protests.  He had been raised in an Irish family which believed in tolerance for all races' viewpoints.  While he pesonally disagreed with the anti-abortionists, he didn't believe in abortion either.  He hoped the demonstration would go so peacefully that shooting the sleeping gas would not be necessary.  The beltway was crowded with suburbanites coming into the city to work.  He flicked his red light on and pulled in the far left lane driving around the logjam.  As he whizzed by, he was happy for the power over the demonstrators--the power to enforce his beliefs over others.
# # #
Darryl had grown up in a family in Salem, Massachusetts.  His grandmother was a direct descendant of the last witch burned at the stake--Hattie McTeague.  She was always using witching rods, diviners, as she called them, and constantly consulting her astrology chart.  She practiced palm readings and even read the bumps on Darrel's skull.  He thought a lot of what she did was plain hocus pocus, but went along with it because she always had a tall glass of lemonade and oatmeal raisin cookies for him.  He watched Granny Sullivan, on the maternal side, cast her frequent spells and knew that it really worked.
After she died, he had forgotten most of what she had taught him until he himself had married a witch and they started having regular seances at his suburban Georgetown home.  He had pretty much stayed on the outside of everything except for the times his wife insisted he attend.  There was a pentagram pained on the floor of their townhouse and the coven would petition for visits and manifestations from the Fallen who were more than happy to oblige and cause objects to fly about performing their petty curses and hexes.  Just the week before, while Darryl sat dressed in his hooded robe, the room had burst with a fireball of energy.  Darryl looked on in terror as the fireball seemed to consume him.  When he opened his mouth to protest, he found it was no longer his voice or his thoughts that were governing him.  Another presence had taken over.  Santero had possessed him.  There were times that whole days went by and Darryl couldn't remember anything.  Santero abused him like a cheap motel, moving in and out whenever he pleased.  Murder, death, destruciton were the words that kept echoing in his mind.  He didn't know who was using him and didn't care.