CHAPTER SEVEN

MADMAN ACROSS THE WATER

Otto Mensch ran his crew no differently than the S.S. had run the Nazi death camps.  Santero had given him a two-week deadline to finish the launch site.  His crews were working around the clock.  After it was finished, it was to be operated by remote control miles out at sea.  He had worked out the sequences that would destroy most of the Bay area rendering it a molten radioactive wasteland.  He had learned the art of survival in Brazil while hiding from vengeful Jewish Defense League.  In Campos, a sleepy little town north of Rio, he had done nuclear consultancy and design for the People's Republic of China, though inwardly he detested all communists as being nonelitists.  The main thing that appealed to him was the single-mindedness of purpose in wanting fervently to subjugate the rest of the world.

He had spent hours examining the missile provided by Santero.  Its internal guidance system was extremely elaborate and the nuclear warhead would be devastating if detonated properly.  He knew that if they were successful, it would be months before even the army would be able to venture into the Bay area.  He was confident that there would be few survivors.  Those that lived would quickly succumb to the radioactive contamination and die wretched deaths.  The explosion had to take place nearly a mile over sea level.  The initial flash would incinerate all living matter in a five-mile radius and the accompanying fire storm would take care of the rest.  With the missile directed at the Presidio Naval Base located near the Golden Gate Bridge, the devastation could be spread to the Sausalito and Oakland areas as well.

Santero was only able to procure limited information on the defense systems around the Bay area.  San Francisco Bay, a major U.S. harbor, had more Patriot missile sites than anyone was saying.  Nonetheless, he was positive that they wouldn't be expecting a rogue missile launched from Half Moon Bay.  Mensch had calculated the trajectory and fuel usage, and he knew that the defense systems would have less than 90 seconds after launching to destroy their warhead.  He knew that even in the days of computer-aided tracking, ten of those seconds alone would be needed just for them to do a lock.  Mensch was sure that the strike was foolproof.  He was proud.  It was to be his second Waterloo.  Having been denied the privilege of destroying the Allies during World War Two, he was to finally get his revenge.

Santero was comfortable with his selection of Mensch.  During Mensch's initiation ceremony into the S.S. in 1934, he had been possessed by the fallen angel Dominion.  Dominion, before the rebellion, had been responsible for setting much of the universe in orbit at the direction of the Mighty One.  He had pledged himself to Santero and was devoting his full attention to destroying the very universe that he had helped to shape.  The nuclear bomb hideously rearranged atoms into states of mass confusion at thermo meltdown temperatures.  Mensch had long known the secret of his wisdom and the terrible price he would eventually pay.  When he made his pact with Dominion, his thirst for knowledge was unquenchable and he was willing to trade anything for the secrets of the universe.

He was like a child with someone else's toy.  If he could not play with it, he was determined to destroy it so no one else could either.  He believed that he was a theoretician beyond even the great Einstein.  He knew the source of his inspiration was diabolical.  Santero knew he would not have to destroy Mensch.  He was already destroyed from within.  His body was simply passing through time until it would be shed like a rattlesnake sheds its skin.  Only when Mensch was without his body would he see what he had become.  Santero knew then it would be too late.  Another day, another duping.  He controlled those under him like finger puppets.  He marvelled at the continual stupidity that made so many humans repeat the same mistakes time after time.  He despised the creatures the Mighty One had made and his sole consolation was bringing pain to them, hoping that the Mighty One suffered a little of it himself.

Santero paced back and forth across his massive state nervously anticipating the completion of his missile launching pad.  Cad approached him hesitantly, knowing that one negative word about anything would send him into an uncontrollable rage.

"Lord Santero, word has come back to us that Hauser is returning to Washington."

"Impossible.  He is to be out at sea for at least another three weeks.  You must have misinformation."

"No, I am sorry it is true, your lordship.  We will need your direct help.  He will have to be destroyed.  He could bring our plans to a grinding halt."

"I know that, you fool.  He is the only one that can.  I knew we should have destroyed him.  I was the fool for revelling in his suffering and not putting him out of his miserable existence.  Where is he now?"

"Under heavy military security in Guam.  They are to fly him back to California tomorrow."

"Destroy the plane and all those aboard.  He can't come back.  They will find us and force us to abort our launch."

"Gladly, I will take a host of our mightiest.  The Mighty One will be powerless to stop us."

"Yes, He will be indeed.  See to it and send over Mensch."

Santero knew that the Mighty One was only powerless because he had chosen to live by His own rules - no intervention without intercession.  If Santero and his followers could keep the Mighty One's followers from interceding for Jerry Hauser, they would be able to send him to his death.  What Santero didn't realize was that nothing could stop the intercession of David Gleason and Pamela Hauser from the Circle of Light.  They were safe from his influence and nothing could keep them from petitioning the Mighty One to keep Commander Hauser safe.  He had clearly made his pact with God.  He had been determined to come clean.  As Jerry sat in the officer's quarters in Guam waiting to be sent back to Washington, he felt a peace.  He knew that it was possible that his devious treason could be turned around and Santero, the man who had orchestrated so much suffering for so many people, would be exposed and brought down.

Even as he sat on the bed wondering about the many mistakes he had made in his life, he was unaware as to why he was feeling so good.  He was about to be court martialed and sentenced to the brig (or even death) for treason after supplying a nuclear missile to a madman, and yet he was completely calm.  If he could have seen the two immense beings that stood in front and back of him, he would have realized that his calmness was quite natural.  Armuirian the Warrior was over ten feet tall.  His wing span covered over fifteen feet.  He had encased Jerry totally within his wings protecting his mind from all despair and doubt.  Litanno, though not as massive, was the quickest of the Mighty One's Warriors.  When attacked he could move at lightning speed, coming up behind his enemies even as they were slashing out at him.  Many of the fallen had returned to the abyss by foot after being clipped by Litanno.  The Mighty One had sent his best to guard Hauser.

The C-5 transport plane was not known for comfort but had a reputation for reliability.  The Air Force mechanics who worked on it gave it a thorough inspection each time it landed and went over it again for hours before any scheduled departures.  It was only after they had inspected it that Cadaver was able to blind the security personnel, enabling Saphiro to place a hole in the hydraulic system that would keep the landing gear from going down.  Cadaver had been in enough human wars to know that with the proximity of the fuel tanks to the bottom of the wings no one would survive a landing without the gear locked down.  Hauser was as good as dead.

As the C-5 took off from the Guam airstrip, Litanno and Armuirian placed themselves on each of the wings.  They wondered why Santero had sent no one to stop them.  They dismissed it as wisdom on Santero's part, something they knew he was totally devoid of.  Throughout the ages, they both had run-ins with the Fallen.  They marvelled at how after failure upon failure, the Fallen had still chosen to follow the lie.  The Mighty One's Son had stated "I am the way, the truth and the life."  They were glad to be following the truth.  They had both lost dear friends in the great rebellion, and many times throughout history they had reached out to their friends, sadly realizing that their friends had chosen an irreversible course.  It thrilled their spirits when a human chose to respond to the Mighty One's forgiveness, choosing the high, narrow road.  They knew Hauser's decision had been hard.  They were determined that nothing would keep him from reaching his destiny.  The flight was to Edwards Air Force Base located in the desert in Southern California.  After seventeen uneventful hours had passed, they decided to go inside the plane and look around.

Not only had Cadaver's agent, Saphiro, damaged the hydraulic supply lines, he had also disconnected the warning light.  The pilot would have no idea he had no landing gear until he would be just miles out from the landing strip.  By then, because of the huge weight of the craft and the low supply of fuel, it would be difficult for them to even attempt an ocean landing.

As Litanno entered the craft, he felt uncomfortable.  He chastised himself for not entering earlier.  His sense of smell, heightened from eons in the presence of the aroma surrounding the Mighty One's throne, was instantly triggered.  He turned to Armuirian.

"They've been here.  It has been some hours, but I can smell the decay still lingering."

To the Warriors, the smell of the fallen was even more repulsive than the sight of them.  It was as if rancid meat had been allowed to set unattended in a tropical warehouse for years.  Humans were impervious to it from existing on a different plane, but to the Warriors, there was no mistaking the odor.

Armuirian drew his wings in close to his body.  "I'll have a look below, Litanno.  You check out the cockpit."

The moment Armuirian went into the belly of the plane, he knew something was wrong.  It didn't take him long to figure out that the hydraulic fuel lines had been severed.  There was a pool of hydraulic fluid.  He knew that in the event of a crash, he could encircle Hauser with his massive wings and save him from death, but he knew that in doing so, five others would die.  As a guardian, he felt a responsibility to all living humans, not just those specifically entrusted to him.  He relayed a message to Eclete.  Within seconds, Eclete showed up to survey the problem.

"What should I do?  This whole craft is doomed!"

"I see it is beyond repair.  Perhaps we can manually lower the landing gear," Eclete responded.  "Nonetheless, you can't let all these die."

"In thirty minutes we will be attempting to land."

"I have the answer.  I'll let the fuel out and force the craft to land at sea.  We can each assist them into their lifeboat.  I will call for more help."

Within moments, Davidshu and Raphael had shown up to help.  All the fuel was emptied and the pilot, not knowing what was happening, began to panic.  He called in mayday and dropped his altitude sharply.  The pilot knew that upon impact, the big plane could sink immediately.  He had over fifteen years, but it would be his first attempted ocean landing.  As he headed for the mesmerizing blue sea, David Gates, Lt. Commander, reflected on his wife and three children and wondered if he would ever see them again.

As far as planes went, the C-5 was relatively water tight.  It had not been designed for flotation; it was made for flying with large payloads.  The huge craft could submerge and take anyone within fifty feet down in the huge vacuum it would create.  Hauser knew as he tightened the straps on his life preserver and kicked off his boots, that they would have to swim as far away from the craft as possible to have any chance of survival.  They would never be able to hold their breath long enough to get back to the surface after being dragged down in the vacuum.  Strangely enough, he found death an inviting thought.  No longer was he afraid of facing an impending judgment.  He knew he had made his peace with the Mighty One and now he was prepared to meet Him face to face.

Eclete had formulated his plan.  Armuirian and Litanno would support the wings of the craft, ensuring it a smoother landing.  Raphael, Davidshu and himself would be responsible for getting all the passengers out and making sure that none of them were trapped in their seats to die.

The gravity of the situation had not escaped Cadaver.  Invisibly cloaked under darkness, he had taken a special interest in insuring destruction of the C-5 and the death of Jerry Hauser.  He knew the mind of the Mighty One and how often He refused to perform miracles, assuring that His followers would follow Him blindly for love and not for His power.  Cadaver would turn the Mighty One's reasonings to His disadvantage.

Within seconds, Cadaver had summoned Octonoo, Prothesus, Maduke and one hundred others of lesser power.  They flew overhead to ensure that once the flames engulfed the plane, no one would get out alive.  It was something they were well practiced in.  Many times they had laughed gleefully as plane crash victims were burnt alive in their seats.  Oftentimes they even aided the destruction by helping to spread the flames around and ordering the people together in front of a blocked exit door which mysteriously could not be unbolted, creating an unbelievable panic.

Cadaver followed the plane's descent towards the sea.  As he flew down to inspect the situation, he saw Armuirian and Litanno, each guiding one of the wings.

"Be gone or I shall slice you like sushi," he challenged.

Cadaver flew dangerously close to Litanno and sliced several feathers off his wings.  Litanno knew that he had to hang onto the craft when it hit water.  If he let go to challenge Cadaver, the rescue would be impossible.

"I would have thought this beneath your talents, Great Cadaver.  Why, there are only six on board.  Haven't you grander schemes to attend to?"

Litanno knew to appeal to his pride.  In the several seconds it took for Cadaver to see Litanno's strategy, the plane landed.  Immediately they were surrounded by the horde of demons.  With his free hand, Litanno took out his sword and began to defend himself from the attack.  Prothesus threw a long barbed spear directly at his face.  He turned just in time but it caught him in his left hand, pinning it to the wing.  The moment he tried to free himself, he found himself set upon by five of the fallen thirsting for his blood.  Octonoo's eight pronged barb spears caught him in the back sending a fiery shot of pain through his body.  Fortunately for him, Armuirian had no such trouble vanquishing those who attacked him and came to his aid.  With the backside of his sword, Armuirian sent Octonoo a thousand feet into the air and managed to defect Prothesus's counter lunge.

"You fools.  Don't watch us," Cadaver cried to those around him.  "Make sure no one gets out of that plane alive."

The Warriors inside had their hands full trying to get the five crewmen and Hauser safely outside.  Raphael got the hatch cover opened and pushed the captain and the navigator out of the hatch into the sea.  He was going back for the others when Cadaver confronted him with Maduke at his side.

Only once before had he directly engaged the fallen commanders.  That was at a time when no human lives were at stake.  He had tasted the immense pain from their fiery swords and knew how long it took to recover even with the benefit of the Mighty One's healing waters.

"Little Raphael, step aside.  We will let you save the others, but we want Hauser.  He is not to be permitted to live," Maduke taunted.

The instant Maduke spoke, a stream of flames came out of his mouth.  The dragon of China had its legend in reality, Maduke the dragon of the underworld.  Raphael blocked the stream with his wing.

"You've lost Maduke, your country has become even more Christianized than the United States.  Why do you keep fighting for a losing cause?  You think Hauser will make a difference to your schemes?  Don't you realize that as mighty as you are, you are just a pawn?"

As he spoke, Cadaver slashed him through the wing and across his face, piercing his left eye.  Raphael recoiled in pain.  He was buying time for Davidshu to bring Jerry Hauser safely out.  Raphael decided to draw them both away from the aircraft giving Davidshu a clear passageway with Hauser.  He swung ferociously, making them both retreat.  

The left wing that Armuirian had abandoned began to sink.  The pilot's mayday had been heard and a fleet of Coast Guard ships had gone out from Newport Beach, San Diego and Long Beach.

Even with a hovercraft they were still an hour out.  Hauser didn't know how the raft had managed to get right next to him.  He pulled himself in, trying to shake the saltwater from his eyes.  His only fear was of sharks.  Had he seen the battle raging around him for his life, he certainly would have been more afraid of what he didn't see.

Three of the crewmen never made it out.  With Raphael nearly blinded from Cadaver's sword, Davidshu was forced to limit his rescue efforts.  Raphael's valiant counterattacks had forced Cadaver and Octonoo to retreat.  Armuirian finished off Maduke, severing one of his wings.

Maduke, severely impaired, followed Cadaver under the water and possessed a huge eighteen-foot hammerhead shark.  The very feel of the creature sent shivers down his spine.  Many times after planes had crashed and boats had gone down, he gathered with the other fallen to destroy humans.  Oftentimes they had found the sharks quite docile just circling in curiosity, but the moment they possessed them, they found the sharks had an untapped fury about them and would even bite through the rafts to destroy the survivors.  Never was the carnage greater than during World War Two when thousands of passengers had been sent to the deep by German U-boats.  A great majority would have survived were it not for the demon-possessed shark attacks.  The Warriors had known about it as well, but even after countless attacks, they had no way to deal with it except to move the potential victims miles away from the sharks.

Davidshu knew the dangers Hauser and the others faced from the sharks.  He knew that although it appeared they had won, the battle was far from being over.  He could sense the presence of Maduke and Cadaver slowly swimming to the surface.  The Warriors had but one advantage and Davidshu planned on using it fully.  Once they had inhabited the bodies of the sharks, the demons' own powers were severely curtailed.  He knew that sharks were nearly blind and depended on their sense of smell.  Fortunately, none of the three survivors were bleeding.  The sun was beginning to rise and its reflection was splashing on top of the ocean.  Hauser decided to paddle towards shore forming a convoy with the other life raft.  Davidshu knew with the sun coming up the sharks would be able to look towards the surface and perhaps detect the silhouette of the rafts.  Fortunately, Davidshu wasn't alone in his desire to help Hauser and the crew survive.  Eclete had left immediately after the battle and located a large school of porpoise sleeping off Avalon Island.  As fast as they were, they were still a good fifteen minutes away. Eclete was able to warn them of the humans that needed to be saved and they responded at an incredibly fast pace and followed him to join the rescue.

Although it was only six in the morning, Denise found herself being woken up from bed.  She felt a burden to pray for Jerry.  She'd only felt it once before.  This time she recognized it as being from the Mighty One.  In actuality, Litanno returned to the Circle of Light to bathe in the healing waters.  He had stopped and prompted her to intercede for Hauser.  He knew that the Warriors would need all the strength they could muster to be able to do battle with the demon sharks.

After swimming in circles, the large school of sharks began to move towards the splashing sounds coming from the surface.  Their natural instincts honed in.  They were scavengers and liked to get their meals easily by feeding off the weak and helpless.

"Hauser, come over here.  Let's tie the rafts together.  The sea planes will have a better chance of spotting us."

"I don't know, Gates.  I'd rather not try to even paddle for shore.  It's bound to attract sharks."

"We're not going to just sit here and wait."

"It would be better.  They'll be along.  You sent out a mayday, didn't you?"

"Yeah."

"Well, it should be only a short while."

The Warriors were pulling them further away from where the C-5 had gone down, trying to buy them time until their rescue.  The sharks were bound by curiosity to find the two seamen's bodies.  They knew their savagery would be relentless.

Cadaver's hammerhead spotted the bleeding body of the crew member whose head was poking out of one of the windows.  His sharks had gone into a feeding frenzy nearly killing one another.  Cadaver hated dealing with such a primitive intelligence.  It was nearly impossible to get them to do as he wanted.  Maduke managed to keep his shark away from the frenzy by keeping him on the surface.  The sound of the oar slapping the surface triggered an instinctive response in the shark.  Slowly the huge hammerhead began to circle.  The dorsal fin first appeared three hundred yards to the east.  Hauser was the first to spot it.

"Captain, to your starboard, dorsal fin.  I told you your oars were going to attract attention."

Fortunately for them, the other sharks had not followed Maduke's hammerhead.  They had found two of the crew members and were satiating their appetites.  They had eaten him, flight jacket and all.  There was to be no funeral for Tom McClusky, Air Force or John Duffy, MP Marines.  Two grieving widows and other family members would hold a small memorial chapel service at Edwards Air Force Base.  Their spirits had already been escorted to the Circle of Light by Eclete where they were given a warm welcome.

Miles away, Eclete spotted the hammerhead closing in on the rafts.  The circles were increasing and he was bumping the small raft.  Hauser twice hit it with his oar.  Hauser knew that at any time the huge shark could knock him out of the craft into the ocean where he would make an easy target.  Davidshu sensed Maduke's presence but could not do anything about it.  Each time the shark lunged towards Hauser's raft, Davidshu exerted all his strength to push the raft just enough so that it was out of the shark's jaws.  Davidshu knew that he was just buying time.  Eventually, the other sharks would find them and there would be nothing he could do to prevent Hauser from dying.

Eclete sensed in his spirit the seriousness of the situation.  Because Hauser's presence was needed to disclose to the military the identity of the missile purchaser, his death could mean that Santero would destroy the Bay area.  The dolphins with him racing to the rescue had only one thing in mind - aiding someone in distress.  They had been made to assist mankind on the world's oceans.  They had been known to sacrifice their lives to save humans from shark attacks.  Unfortunately, the tuna companies had not had their best interests in store, and after trapping them in their three mile nets, would throw  them into the ocean where they were easy prey for the sharks.  The school of twenty dolphins racing to the rescue had never encountered a tuna net.  They had no thought for their own safety, just the safety of the downed crewmen.

Maduke sensed the intervention of Davidshu and instead of having the shark lunge from aside the raft, he went low and came up towards the surface at his top speed, determined to knock the raft over.  Hauser was rocked out of the raft.  As it overturned, he scrambled and kicked frantically.  Gates and Barnett sat helplessly watching Hauser struggling for his life.  The dorsal fin circled around the black eyes watching beneath the surface as Hauser's feet struggled to get back on the overturned raft.  Gates took his flare gun and shot it futilely at the dorsal fin.

"Get out of the water, Hauser.  Get the hell out of there - now.  Or you're dead."

Gates was screaming and looked behind him to see the school of dolphins less than one hundred yards away.  The dolphin in the lead went in low to strike the shark underneath.  After their rapid swim, he was a little fatigued but the desire to save a human refueled him.  Maduke wasn't expecting his hammerhead to be attacked by a dolphin.  It put him off track enough so that he missed his lunge at Hauser's legs.

Before he could react, several of the dolphins had hit him.  One of the dolphins was bit in the tail, sending fresh blood into the water.  Cadaver's sharks, less than a mile away, sensed it and swam over to inspect what was happening.  They immediately set upon one of the dolphins.  The shark found that the slowest of the dolphins was pregnant and he crushed it in his immense jaws.  He enjoyed the squeal as it died in his mouth.  Immediately four of her kin pummelled his carrier relentlessly until blood came out of his own mouth.  Two of the other sharks, upon seeing him wounded, set upon his carrier, tearing it to shreds.  With his host carrier dead, he ascended to the surface where Maduke joined him.  Hauser managed to swing his legs on top of the overturned raft where he watched the action.  The water churned and bubbled with swift-moving grey and black bodies.  Hauser could not tell who was winning but the feeling of doom which he had allowed to come over him had left him.

"Be gone, Maduke, Cadaver," Davidshu spoke.  "You have lost again.  Tell Santero we are coming for him.  Tell him the Lord reigns on High.  All praise and honor and glory be unto Him.  Tell him all creation rejoices at the coming of the Lord."

"You may have defeated us here, Davidshu, but before it is over, we shall take countless millions of your Mighty One's nasty humans to the Lake of Fire," Maduke taunted.

"That may well be true, but those who call upon the Lord shall be saved and there is nothing you will ever be able to do to separate them from the love of God."

Cadaver supported Maduke as they made their way back to Half Moon Bay to reenter their human host still lying spiritless.  He dreaded the encounter with Santero and knew very little would be able to placate him.  He was prepared for an impaling, but knew Santero would need his help to salvage what he could of their plan.

As he got back to Half Moon Bay, he reentered his sleeping human host.  All resistance to his menacing presence had died less than a month after he had entered for the first time.  Horace Greenwalt had been a big-time advocate of fantasy games.  He was a game master of Warlocks and Wizards and would play for hours upon hours.  His wife, a former Miss Florida and newscaster, had gotten so sick of his continual role playings that she had left him and the millions he had made marketing his fantasy games.  Shortly after she left, he became seriously depressed and decided rather than take his own life to surrender it to the Dark Side.

From the local Occult and New Age bookstore he had gotten himself several books on seeking spiritual guides.  He had said a series of incantations not knowing that a demon spirit had been working to possess him all along.  The possession had been swift.  The moment the presence entered him, he realized the tragic mistake he had made.  He felt himself drift into an inky blackness.  He took control of his every action, oftentimes keeping him awake for days.  He sold his business and bought an estate on Half Moon Bay.  No one that knew him realized what was happening to him.  His company, Fantasy Games, was doing over two hundred million dollars of business per year.  They were shocked when he left the helm and ran off to California never to be heard from again.  His sister Rita, married to a successful oil man from Oklahoma, had tried to keep in touch with him but he wasn't allowed to take even her calls.  Oftentimes when Cadaver left him, Horace would be able to breath but he knew there was no place he could run to and escape the presence that engulfed his life.  One night he had gotten up and turned on the television.  A tele-evangelist was on coaxing people to give their hearts to Jesus.  No matter how hard he wanted to, he believed that not even Jesus could save him from the fate that he had chosen for himself.  He called the number on the screen and a young girl had encouraged him to believe in Jesus and be saved.  He tried to mouth the words of the prayer along with her, but Cadaver returned and he felt his body being invaded by the inky black presence.  Each time it was like being drowned alive, only he felt like a cybernate trapped in his own physical shell.  If he could, if the presence would have let him, he knew that he would kill himself, but it didn't.  Because of his suicidal tendencies each time, even in the middle of the night that Cadaver left him, he had one of his underlings keep an eye on him.  Cadaver had no desire to switch hosts.

The host that Santero had chosen was most ironic.  Bradley Dunwoody grew up in a Southern Baptist household in Savannah, Georgia.  The men of the cloth in his family tree went back nearly two hundred years.  Bradley was different.  He left home at sixteen after getting the church organist pregnant.  When everyone learned that the twenty-seven year old organist had run off with the young preacher's son, the news rocked the town.  Their relationship had lasted about seven years.  She helped him finish college where he majored in computer science.  He had put all his energies into developing telemarketing software and had made his first million before he was twenty-two.  They settled in San Antonio, but he never took his eyes off the other ladies.  With a middle-aged wife and son at home, he would seek his nocturnal pleasure at Billy's, the local watering holes where such luminaries as Waylon and Willie would come in to water their pipes.  He built a pool shaped like a guitar with a private landing strip for his corporate jet.  One of the local concert promoters was into the full range of entertainment - drugs, girls, shows - and asked Bradley if he'd mind some late night landings of drug shipments from Panama.  Bradley had the foresight to see what was down the road and refused the offer.

Having shown his full deck, the promoter, George Ryback, came up with a plan to use the airstrip anyway.  While Bradley was off cavorting with the country stars and groupies, he was at home with Tina Dunwoody.  He convinced her the best way to get her life back on track was to have him killed.  Each night after they passionately made love, he'd work on her until gradually she began to see it as her own idea.  It didn't take much to put it into action.  One night after they had thrown a big bash, they took Bradley's inebriated body and filled his mouth full of ice cream.  As he was choking to death, turning blue and purple, his young son Tom came down to the kitchen and saw his dad next to a gallon of ice cream lying on the kitchen floor and called 9-1-1.

By the time the ambulance had come, his heart was still beating, but his brain was dead.  Santero had been to many of the parties which were well attended by the Fallen, encouraging the mindless into debauchery and licentiousness.  They perched like gargoyles on the rooftop revelling in the rebellion.  One of the underlings reported to Santero Bradley's brain death and Santero moved in and possessed him.  The doctors had no measuring device to detect Santero's presence and were shocked when Bradley, still registered as brain dead, began to speak and insisted on leaving the hospital.

When he went home, Tina knew something had changed.  To celebrate his miraculous recovery, he took his wife and son to Mexico where he rented scuba gear.  While out with them, he tied both together and turned their oxygen off.  He let their bodies drift in the currents and reported them as missing.  He played up the part of the grieving husband and no one suspected any foul play.

George knew different but couldn't prove anything.  Santero, though grateful to George for initiating the first murder attempt, knew he was dangerous to have around.  He filled a pit near Brownsville with rattlers and under the pretext of showing George a landing strip, pushed him in and laughed while he was bitten over and over again by the snakes.  He left the body and went back to San Antonio where he put his company up for sale and bought the land adjacent to Cadaver's acreage in Half Moon Bay, assuring them total privacy.  In all, things had worked ingeniously.  Had Bradley lived in Haiti, he would have been known as a zombie.  In California, he hardly stuck out as being abnormal.

Cadaver knew that Santero would be upset.  He had discovered long ago that many of Santero's plans backfired.  The Mighty One's wishes were never known by any of them.  At any time their best laid plans could come tumbling down at the Mighty One's whim.  There was nothing any of them could do about it.  Cadaver had never totally shared Santero's hatred of the humans.  He found them nonthreatening and amusing.  He found pleasure in the sexual interactions with both human males and females.  He regarded them as somewhat harmless to his overall plans.  He knew that Santero long ago had wanted all the attention of the Mighty One.  He was aware that Santero viewed the creation of the humans as threatening to his position in the Mighty One's kingdom.  He had tried to create his own parallel universe, not realizing that as a creation himself, he was totally unable to truly create anything.  No, it didn't surprise Cadaver at all that Santero's plans were once again doomed to failure.  Still, he would give his all to aid his master in any way possible.

Billy Memphis went to church early Saturday.  He was a little startled to see Denise kneeling in front of the altar praying.

"Denise, it's me.  What's up?"

He walked over and put his hand on her shoulder.

"You O.K.?"

"Yeah, I'm O.K.," Denise replied.

It was a lie.  Billy could see she was dying inside.  What was left of her mascara from the day before had caked itself under her eyelashes like dirt next to a cable television ditch.  It hadn't looked like she had slept all evening.

"What's wrong?"

"I got a call from the Navy.  Jerry sold out his country.  He confessed to treason.  They are bringing him back this morning."

"You going to go see him?  There's got to be some kind of an explanation."

"Yeah, I know.  Look, Billy, it's not like I even know him anymore.  He's totally different."

"I'm supposed to meet Bruce here with Louis in about fifteen minutes.  We could all pray.  I'm sure whatever he's gotten himself into, it's no surprise to God.  I mean, He knows everything, right?"

"Yeah, you are right."

"Here," Billy reached in his pocket and gave her a handkerchief.  "Wipe your eyes.  It looks like somebody gave you two black eyes.  We can't go having that in here."

All it took to lift Denise's spirit was a little joviality from one of the followers.  Billy was the one to do it.  

Jerry was drifting lost at sea.  In the act of saving him from the sharks, Davidshu had been forced to move him miles from the crash site where he had been caught up in the gulf stream and was moving a good fifteen knots every hour.

A massive search had been launched by air and sea.  Coast guard vessels had gone out from as far away as San Diego and Long Beach.  They had already spotted part of the wreckage and managed to pick up the raft with the captain and surviving crew members.

The captain told them about the sharks and gave them little hope of finding Hauser alive.  The admiral was furious.  Hauser's confession was a matter of grave national security interest.  A live warhead in the hands of a madman.  He wished he hadn't taken the chance and flown him back.  He wished they had interrogated him right in Guam.  He was hoping innocent lives would not have to pay for his blunder.

Lips parched, Hauser had managed to turn the raft back over.  A hole in the middle let in much of the sea water, but the buoyancy was still steady.  Hauser dug through the pockets and found a few flares and a survival kit.  The kit had jars of food and sunblock.  Hauser knew he was drifting and could see the spotter planes combing the area of the crash site.  He knew they would graph the area and search every speck for him.  He could see he was drifting down towards Baja California and even though he dreaded the upcoming trial and public disgrace, he knew it would be better than slowly dying adrift on the ocean.

Several of the dolphins had stayed around him.  They would swim close to the raft and allow him to reach out and pet them.  It was if they sensed that if abandoned, he would sink into a deep melancholy and give up the desire to live.  Davidshu stuck close by him.  He couldn't understand why the rescue planes were not spotting him.  He was glad that for the time being his battles with Cadaver and Maduke were over.  Several times Eclete had come to him bringing him news and cheering him up as well.  Davidshu missed being in the presence of the Mighty One in the Circle of Light.  He hoped the mission would be over soon and he could go back home.

The day passed rather swiftly and nightfall fell over the small craft.  The swells had grown larger, sometimes up to thirty feet.  He knew surface rescue vessels would have no chance of spotting him unless they crossed bows.  Nonetheless, Hauser's spirit wasn't dampened.  The dolphins had left him in search of food, but something told him that they would be back.  He hooked a rope around his chest and tied himself to the side just in case one of the swells threw him out of the craft.  The crescent moon smiled down upon him and he wondered if he'd get a chance to undo the damage of putting a nuclear weapon in the hands of a madman.

National Security Headquarters, located near the White House in a rather nondescript office building, was beginning an intensive search for the missing weapon.  They had tracked the off-loading in Alameda and the warehouse where the one weapon had been transferred to.  They had been viewing the video surveillance tapes for the past three months at dockside and went over all records of possible terrorists living around the Bay area.  They were shocked to learn of Hauser's daughter and decided to check with the film companies.  It was one dead end after another.  Promising leads simply crumbled in their hands in a series of shadow corporations and untraceable post office boxes.

Through Gleason's parents they learned that he had been associated with Donald Kasen.  There were five D. Kasens in the San Francisco area.  Two agents had gone out to see which of the men knew Gleason.  Kasen was visibly shaken up at being awakened at three p.m. by National Security Agents.  They grilled him pretty heavily about Gleason and didn't even allow him the dignity to put his clothes on.  He felt as if he was in a Gestapo interrogation.  The young lady that was sleeping with him was grilled as well.

He lied through and through, but they knew it.  After four hours of being seated, they got their first real lead - Vince Santero, underworld pornographer.  Kasen let them know of the meeting he had set up between Santero's underling Cad and Gleason and of the pictures of Pamela Hauser that Santero had bought.

Everything began to tie in after they interviewed Denise.  They had done some financial checks, and to Denise's dismay, had found out about the considerable funds that Jerry had spent indulging his newfound vices in the sex shops of San Francisco.  The agents pulled licenses to see if they could find a pattern of owners.  Corporations were registered in other states owned by corporations in other states.  Statutory agents were listed only with post office boxes.  The link to Santero was untraceable.  Kasen was much more afraid of Santero and his anger than he was of any government agency.  After two days they were forced to let him go.  The word had gotten back to Santero just when a new crew had been brought in from Guatemala to help finish construction.

Santero visited Mensch at the site.

"When will it be ready?" he shouted over the sound of the welding torches and jackhammers.

"Three days.  The computer program is completed as well as the launch bay.  We are doing the final reinforcement," Mensch replied.

"The new workers, how are they doing?" Santero wondered.

"Hardly any complaints.  One Jorge Nurose wonders when he gets his day off.  He says no one should have to work round the clock."  Mensch motioned towards him.  "Maybe we should give him his day off earlier.  O.K. with you?"

Santero glanced back at him.  "Call him over."

"Jorge, the boss wants to meet you."

The young Guatemalan, busy with the torch, shut it off, took off his goggles and walked over to Santero.  He extended his hand.

"Pleased to meet you, Mr. Santero.  The recruiters didn't say any round-the-clock work no days off."  Jorge checked him out carefully.

Santero could sense something was different about this worker, yet he was blinded as to what made him different.  Because of the dark Ray-Bans Jorge was wearing, he couldn't see the light shining out of his eyes - a light that would have betrayed him as a follower of the Mighty One.  A follower whose very presence would mean an end to his plans. 

"It's only for a few more days," Santero replied.  "Besides, we are paying triple time.  You'll go home with a nice big check."

"What's this thing for, anyway?  I thought in your country N.A.S.A. did all the launching," Jorge queried.

"It's a private venture.  We are putting up a communication satellite.  We can save over 60% of the cost by using our own launch bay.  Zoning prohibits us from having one above ground."

Mensch stepped in to change the subject and motioned to Santero with his eyes about getting rid of Jorge.  Santero motioned to wait.

"I think you'd better get back to work, Nurose.  That metal is not going to weld itself," Mensch ordered.

"No problem, sir."  He backed away.  "Nice to meet you, Mr. Santero.  Privilege working for you."

Jorge Nurose had attended MIT, and after graduating and getting his Ph.D. in Nuclear Rocketry, had gone back to his home country of Guatemala where he had become Associate Minister of Defense and also a follower of the Mighty One.  When one of his former students, a second cousin, had told him about the launching pad being built and the location, he had become suspicious.  His suspicions had risen further when Perromme Antigua had not returned after three months of work.  It was as if he vanished.  He managed to contact the same recruiter and was hired on the project.  He knew that something was wrong from the moment he had arrived.  Security was too tight for a commercial launching.  The usual government inspections were nonexistent and workers were moved about after sunset and before sunrise.

He had asked the Mighty One for protection so he could find out what was really going on.  In spite of being in the presence of enemies, he felt secure.  He knew his prayers had been answered.  Yoballa, his protector, was the stealthiest of all the Warriors.  He had learned to make his presence undiscernible until a crucial need arose.  Yoballa hated being around so much evil and was disgusted with the vile behavior of the workers and the unsatiable appetites they were developing for wanton sex and violence.

After work they were taken to the tents and given their choice of hundreds of young women and men, "sex slaves," who would do anything they wanted.  Yoballa was happy that Jorge had not descended into the level of vialness that he knew would harden his heart.  He remained strong reading secretly from his hidden New Testament.  He continued to keep a stream of spiritual praise going, and with the Mighty One's help, was able to filter out nearly all the decayedness.  It was as if in the lapping fires of Hell the flames had not been able to singe him.  There were many from his country that harassed him in Spanish for not taking advantage of the free sex.  Jorge knew the psychological cost of free sex, the lowering of one's self-esteem and the indifference to the true needs of one's fellow man was much too high of a price for him to pay.  He watched his coworkers become more like animals, panting to get off work and indulge their ever debasing fantasies.  He had seen them come back to the sleeping tents with cigarette burns and whip marks all over their bodies.  He had seen the men hemorrhaging from their anal cavities and black and blue from their wild sex escapades.  He wanted no part of it and he felt hopeless that because of his mission, he couldn't lead any of them out of their deepening despair.

He used his free time to learn as much about the complex as possible.  He had hoped his complaining would bring him to the attention of Santero.  He had welcomed the opportunity to size him up.  When it had come, he had not been disappointed.  He had expected him to be removed from reality but not nearly as much as he had seen him to be.  He knew from throwing out the small compliment that Santero could be manipulated by flattery.  He knew with only a few short days to completion he would have to make his move quickly.

With Gleason and Pamela constantly interceding for her father adrift at sea, the Mighty One responded by sending a westerly wind that took him out of the current and blew him down towards the tip of the Baja Peninsula.  Hauser had taken to eating some seaweed that drifted to the surface, and although he was severely sunburned, he had managed to keep from becoming totally dehydrated.  He had taken a small plastic rain jacket, made a hole in it, and put a cup underneath.  He had put salt water on top and watched as fresh water evaporated on the bottom of it and filled his small drinking cup drop by drop.  The loneliness had grown unbearable, and even though he felt Davidshu's presence, he longed for human company.  He began to think of what he would say to his wife if he ever got safely back to land.  The search plans had given him up for dead.  Several times he had spotted giant seal turtles, and once or twice a giant Marlin.  The sharks were nowhere to be seen.  At fifteen miles out, he had spotted land.  Little did he know that it was the very breath of the Mighty One that was pushing him gently to shore.

Long ago during creation, the Mighty One had set his breath on the earth to cool and comfort mankind.  The air currents had remained.  Nothing could slow them down.  Mankind had learned to harvest them for windmills and sailing vessels, but nothing had ever stopped them.  Balloons travelled on them, wilderness explorers felt their fierceness, yet no one could ever determine where they originated from.  Hauser knew that it was a miracle from God pushing him to shore.

It was four in the afternoon before his awkward craft was finally pushed close enough to shore for him to swim in.  He was not counting on the sand being as hot as it was, and with his bare feet tenderized by the constant soaking in salt water, he found the sand was unbearable.  Not finding anything to wrap his feet in, he took off his shirt and tore both sleeves off fashioning crude cloth socks.  He was miles away from civilization on the largely uninhabited Baja Peninsula.  The sun set and he examined the night sky as he headed south where he knew the city of La Paz was nestled.  He nearly cut his thigh on the rusted door to an abandoned Jeep Willy laying in the gully.  He decided it would make a good place to spend the night.  He had been walking for over nine hours and figured at best he had covered about twenty miles.  The little bit of bitter water he had managed to dig out of the giant saguaro cactus wouldn't be enough to sustain him through the next hot day, so he decided to stay in the Jeep to avoid the energy-sapping direct sunlight.  It was a wise decision.  It was where they found him.  Nearly unconscious from lack of water, he had started wandering the next night and had stumbled onto a dirt road where an oncoming Mexican taxi had run him down.  It took the driver all the strength he had just to drag Hauser into the cab.  Hauser had a severe concussion and was suffering from his legs being torn.  There was no hospital close by, so the cab driver dropped him off at a motel where his cousin, who was in charge, put him in a room, bathed him down and forced some fruit juice down his mouth.  She had never seen anything like Hauser.  His lips were swollen and cracked, worse than the Grand Canyon.  His eyes were nearly shut from the puffiness of the skin that had blistered and was oozing with pus.  After her cab-driving cousin had finished eating, she told him to fetch the local authorities.

Jorge Zapada, the local constable, didn't like his siesta being disturbed, but when Pero Aguilar, the cab driver, rushed into the station house and began to rant about the burnt gringo, he knew it would be good to check out.  Once before in his life he had found an American woman stranded.  He planted marijuana on her and was able to extort over $50,000 from her grieving parents, plus he inflicted much humiliation on her as she was locked in his squalid little cell.  The thousands of "greenbacks" to purchase American luxuries quickly woke him up.

Matush, the fallen, had grown bored living inside of Jorge.  With no one around, there was no one around to torment.  He had taken to persuading Jorge into torturing small animals just so he could smell their fear and he could be reminded of home.  This was his chance.  He sensed there was something important about this gringo, and when they pulled up, he sensed the presence of a Warrior.

"You have no place here, Matush.  Go back to your sickly torments," Davidshu spoke.

"It's you, the player of the heart strings," Matush hissed.

A large stream of fire went out of Matush's fingertip, seemingly singeing the edges of Davidshu's hair, but in actuality causing no damage.

"Leave this one to me."

Davidshu rose up brandishing a wire strung between his hands.  He glided over to Matush, barely moving his massive wings.  "It's time you and yours learned to be good losers," Davidshu taunted.  "Perhaps some time wrapped in this will simmer that temper of yours."

Matush lifted his wings to cover himself from the wire, but like a moth encases himself before hibernation, found the wire endlessly wrapping around him.

"Get it off of me, damn it.  You'll pay for this, you self-glorifying harpist.  Damn you, you'll pay for thisssss."

Before he could finish his cursing, Davidshu had swung him into the air much like a Chinese box kite and began to swing him around his head until he was going so fast he was like a comet shooting through the heavens.  Bound for the time from head to toe, Matush began what was to be a nearly endless orbit around the earth's surface.  He would be forgotten by all but his immediate supervisor who would not even bother to look for him and would only assume that he had returned to Hell early.

In the natural realm, things had happened quite differently.  While the Policia was on his way, the motel owner had been visited by another tourist who, after much persuasion, had convinced her that Hauser needed medical help, and he offered to fly Hauser to a nearby hospital in La Paz.  She was powerless to do anything but agree with him, and she decided to let him go.  The tourist was Michael, who had decided to take Jerry under his wings and personally return him to the authorities.  He was confident of his power to turn back any opposition.  He knew the Mighty One's wishes and was determined that they come to pass.

The art of flying oneself and flying a Lear were quite different.  Michael mastered both.  He called in a mayday over Edwards Base, and after convincing Air Force officials that his plane was crippled, he was given permission to land at the military installation.  The emergency crew were standing by and followed the craft as it taxied down the runway, stopping just short of the barbed wire fence.  As they approached the plane, they were amazed to see that there was no pilot.  They opened the hatch and found Hauser lying bandaged on the floor still semi-comatose.  As the medic rushed him to the hospital, the M.P. Sergeant checked out the rest of the aircraft for stowaways.  He knew he'd have hell to pay if he had to tell the Base Commander that the pilot had simply disappeared.

Michael enjoyed the joke.  The Warriors never got tired of keeping humans guessing.  It was all he could do to keep his side from exploding as he watched the M.P.s tear apart the Lear jet panel by panel.  He had debated causing the whole entire plane to disappear, but he knew the Mighty One never intended miracles to be used for show, only for specifically carrying out His purposes.  When he saw Hauser was safe with Davidshu guarding him, he returned to the Circle of Light.  With as many souls hanging in the balance as there were, his presence would be required.  He thought back to the first time he had challenged Santero, when sin was found in his heart and he had convinced so many of the others to destroy the Mighty One.  Santero had been a fool to believe that he'd follow anyone but the Mighty One.  Michael had never needed to bask in the glory or even consider himself above the others.  He was grateful for every job the Mighty One chose for him.  Even his eons as a doorkeeper had been served with joy.  He was happy to have been created as a servant and a messenger of one so magnificent.  He had petitioned the Mighty One for permission to lead the others in casting out the usurper.  He had not asked for it in anger, but rather to purge the Circle of the Encroaching Darkness that could forever darken the Eternal Light.  He thought he had seen the Mighty One cry when he was issued a sword and told to cast Santero down to earth.  At that moment, he had felt closer to the Mighty One than ever before.  He saw the overshining love, the compassion even going out to one who wished for his own destruction.  It was to be a lesson he would never forget.  He never cursed Santero.  He never even personally rebuked him.  He treated him with the respect due to any creation made by the Mighty One.  The fact that Santero had rebelled had not made him any less of a creation.  It had just made it impossible for Michael to have fellowship with a worshipper of the Dark Side, the very side of his being that he had to grapple with when Santero had offered him a throne alongside his.  He had, for a moment, wondered what it would be like to be worshipped.  Yet, something deep within had told him not to entertain the thought, but to rid himself of it as quickly as possible.  He had done so, and in so doing, had forever bonded himself to fulfill the Mighty One's every desire.

The Base Commander, Howard Doolittle, called the Director of the National Security Council after getting a scribbled note from Hauser about a nuclear missile.  Hauser continued to drift in and out of lucidity, all the while being fed intravenously and covered with salve and bandages to repair his burnt tissue and concussion.  Doolittle was shocked at the response he received from the Security Council.  The base was moved to Code Five, the highest level security.  The base was under lockdown.  No one in, no one out until the Security Council Chief could be helicoptered in from Los Alamitos.

As Hauser continued to slowly recover his consciousness, he looked up to see the nurse changing his I.V. bottle.  "Excuse me," he said, "Look, can anybody tell me where I am?"

"Yeah," the nurse turned to him with her clipboard in hand.  "From what I've heard, you're up the creek without a paddle ever since they checked who you are.  We're all Code Five.  That means I miss my dinner tonight with my fiance."  The nurse brushed an eyelash out of her eye.  "I just wish someone would tell me why."

"I will," Hauser shrugged.  "Look, I'm sorry.  I sold a nuclear warhead.  I'm a submarine commander.  I got blackmailed and sold my country out."

"What?  And some maniac bought it to blow us all up?"

"Yeah," Hauser replied.  "That about sizes it up.  Look, can you give my wife a call?  The transport plane I was on went down in the Pacific.  God only knows how long I drifted at sea and I'm sure she's worried sick."

Hauser grabbed a pen and scribbled down her number.  "Just tell her I'm O.K., will you?  And tell her I'm sorry."

The nurse, seeing Hauser's humble attitude, softened up and took his note as she left the room.  As Hauser sat his head back on the pillow, he began to once again draft out of consciousness.  He vaguely remembered Santero's face.  The only time he had really seen him was when he had been totally drugged.  It was like an apparition in his mind.  It was as if he was looking at a distorted image through the bottom of a bottle.  He realized the image was seared on his brain. . . . He wondered if the video of him would ever be released.  Yet, a part of him had ceased to care.  His life had been taken out of the very jaws of death, and whatever portion of it was left, no matter where he spent it, was going to be precious to him.

The nurse went in the employees' lounge and picked up the pay phone.  Although the main switchboard had been closed to outgoing calls, she knew security would not check the employees' pay phone.  Upon reaching Denise's number, she waited until a tape recorder answered it.  She jotted down the number where Denise said she would be.

It was the church youth center, donated by Billy Memphis from the proceeds of their long-running play.  Denise was showing unwed mothers how to properly take care of their infants.  It was something she didn't want to be disturbed with while doing and when young Louis told her it was a nurse with information about her missing husband, she nearly dropped the baby she was changing to get to the phone.  A thousand thoughts ran through her mind as she made her way to the phone.  It was only days ago that everyone had given him up for dead.  The military had even contacted her about her widow's pension.

"Hello," Denise stuttered.  "Who's calling, please?"

"Excuse me, is this Mrs. Denise Hauser?" the nurse replied.

"Yes," Denise said, "it is.  The young man said you had some news of my husband, Jerry."  Denise grabbed the phone receiver so hard it nearly broke.  "Tell me, is he alive?"

"Yes," the nurse assured, "he is alive.  Apparently, someone found him wandering about on the Baja.  He's severely dehydrated and blistered, but he is responding very well to the intravenous fluids."

"Can I come see him?" Denise begged.

"No, and I am afraid that under current security conditions, I am not even allowed to tell you where he is.  I am breaking the rules just making this call.  You understand what your husband did, don't you?" the nurse lectured trying not to sound too condemning.

"Yes, I have been briefed several times.  I guess they still haven't found out who he gave it to."

"Then," the nurse reminded, "I don't think why I have to explain to you why his location is top secret."

"No," Denise said dejected.  "I guess you don't.  Do you know if I'll be able to see him?"

"That's not up to me, but I imagine when they get to the bottom of it, they will allow him to have visitors."  The nurse looked about nervously, never having intended on spending as much time on the phone as she had.  "I've got to go."

Denise stood looking at the disconnected receiver shaking mildly from shock.  Louis walked over to her with Billy Memphis.

"Denise," Louis said, "you're all white.  What's wrong . . ."

"God saved him," she said matter-of-factly.

"Your old man's alive," Billy interjected.  "Now that is a miracle.  The dude must have spent a week at sea and God knew where he was all the time."

"They won't let me see him.  They think the person that bought the missile might be after him.  Somebody already tried to kill him once," Denise said.

"Hey, why don't we pray that they'll find the dude that has the missile and then maybe they'll drop the charges," Louis said.

"Louis," Billy put his hand on Louis's shoulder, "this ain't like stealing a car and they drop the charges if you tell them where it is.  This is a big-time nuclear warhead.  It's powerful enough to blow us all off the map."

"Wait a minute," Denise realized.  "What if that is what whoever is planning on doing?  Think about it, Billy.  God destroyed Sodom and Gomorrah because of their gross sins.  What if he decides to allow the Bay area to be destroyed as well?"

"Wouldn't he let us know so we could get our butts out of town," Louis joked.

"Maybe, maybe not.  Think about it.  This weekend aren't we all going to camp in Lake Tahoe?  I mean, like the whole church," Denise realized.

"Not only our church," Billy stated, "but most of the other full gospel churches in the Bay area.  This is the week they all get away for spiritual renewal."

"So God knows," Louis realized.

"Yeah."  Denise began to understand the complications.  "He knows, but we can't allow it to happen.  It'll send millions into Hell.  We've got to do something about it."

"I agree with you, Denise," Billy assured her.  "But what can we do to stop a madman from destroying our city?  We don't even know who your husband gave the warhead to.  The military doesn't either, or we would have heard something."

"They're not going to make an announcement to the whole area.  Think of the panic.  It would be worse than when that earthquake hit last year," Denise reassured.  "Call Bruce.  Let's get the whole church together.  We can take this battle to the Mighty One in prayer.  If we're up against the Destroyer, that's the only way we'll win."