"Pa.s.sword!" Aaron screamed into Brown's face.

"That's confidential..." Brown said.

Aaron punched him in the gut hard enough to cause intense pain. "I don't give a f.u.c.k about that you little piece of s.h.i.t." He pointed his gun at Brown's eyeball, giving the accountant a good look straight down the barrel.

Aaron smelled fresh urine.

"L-O-V-E-N-Y-X", Brown gasped.

"What is N-Y-X?"

"The G.o.ddess of the night." Brown coughed.

Edward resumed his work.

Aaron hauled Brown out to the reception area and sat him on a couch. Ethel and Marina checked the rest of the office building. Aside from the receptionist, there was n.o.body else. They handcuffed the girl to a toilet in the bathroom to keep her out of trouble.

Ethel returned to the reception area. She glared at Brown and said, "We're looking for the Order of Eternal Night."

Brown swallowed. "Never heard of them." His pale skin indicated he was lying.

"You handle their money."

"Just taxes and payroll! I'm not one of them!"

"They're a criminal organization. You're facing felony convictions for fraud and racketeering. That's serious prison time. Ever hear of the RICO Act?"

Brown started to cry. "They'll kill me."

"Once they find out we were here, they'll kill you whether you talk or not. These are paranoid, dangerous men. But if you start cooperating right now, I can put you into witness protection. United States Marshals will guard you twenty-four by seven. Do we have a deal?"

After a moment, he nodded. "OK."

Ethel smiled. "You're an intelligent man. Where is the Farm?"

Smythe was sitting on a cold dirt floor in a barn. He had feigned heat exhaustion and delirium to buy some time, and the ploy had worked for a while. At least the Eternals had pulled him out of the compost heap.

He was bound tightly with his hands behind his back. He had bug bites all over his body, and he hoped none of them became infected, but that was probably the least of his problems. Two men in black robes with knives stood guard over him. His head was down as if he were too weak to lift it.

Somebody walked into the barn. Smythe peeked out of the corner of his eye without raising his head. The newcomer was Harbinger, and he was scowling fiercely.

"Status," he demanded.

"No change," one of the guards said. "He hasn't moved."

"Tie him to a post. The feel of leather scourging his flesh will wake him up."

The guards wheeled in a tall, wooden post on a heavy base. Iron rings were bolted into the wood at several heights.

The guards transferred Smythe to the post and tied his wrists to the highest ring above his head. He thought about fighting them, but he didn't have the strength to defeat all of them at once. The soldier in him wanted to try anyway, but the doctor knew he needed to conserve his dwindling energy until he saw a better opportunity. He hadn't eaten since breakfast, yesterday. He couldn't afford a failed escape attempt.

Harbinger was given a whip made of black, braided leather. Gleaming metal capped the tip. When he snapped the air, it sounded like a gunshot. Smythe could tell at once that Harbinger was an expert.

Even though Smythe was mentally prepared, the first blow felt like molten iron had splashed onto his back. It took all his control to keep from screaming.

"Dr. Smythe," Harbinger said, "or may I call you Tim? I want to show you some pictures. You might have something intelligent to say about them."

He came over and pulled out a stack of photographs from his pocket. One by one, he showed them to Smythe, who immediately recognized them as pictures of bomb damage. Burnt plastic and broken gla.s.s mixed with twisted sc.r.a.ps of metal. There were dead bodies, all charred or crushed horribly. The force of the blast had torn apart some victims like an insane butcher.

"What is this?" Smythe said.

"My carnival," Harbinger said. "My beautiful carnival. n.o.body survived."

"Whoa."

Smythe had seen enough bomb damage during his military career to know that it took a special weapon to create this level of destruction. He could hardly believe the Gray Spear Society had access to such firepower. His estimation of their capabilities went up two notches. He felt renewed regret he wasn't with them anymore. If only he had been a little more patient and obedient.

"You were a soldier," Harbinger said, "so I'm interested in your professional opinion. What kind of bomb did this?"

Smythe shrugged. "A big one?"

Harbinger stepped back, and the whip struck again. Smythe grunted.

"As you can imagine," Harbinger said, "I'm very upset right now. I don't think I've ever been this angry. If you don't start giving me useful answers, I'll whip you until strips of raw flesh are hanging off your body. Then I'll cauterize the wounds to keep you alive, so we can do it again tomorrow."

"I don't know anything."

Two more blows landed, and Smythe felt blood trickle down his back. The pain was incredible.

An odd green light filled the barn. He twisted around and saw a ball of glowing mist in the air. It billowed as if blown by the wind, but the air was perfectly still. He had never seen anything like it, and he wondered if he were hallucinating. Flashing, pulsing light streamed from the center of the dense mist.

The guards immediately fell to their knees and bowed their heads. Harbinger remained standing, and he stared into the light as if hypnotized. His eyes were dilated.

After a moment the light faded away. No trace of the phenomenon remained except for a lingering warmth in the air.

The guards stood up. "Sir!" one of them said. "Did it speak to you? What did it say?"

Harbinger frowned. "It was a warning. Our enemy will be here soon."

"What was that thing?" Smythe said.

"The Spirit of the Night, our true leader. All truth and wisdom flows from the Spirit."

Smythe was certain he was delirious. He had just seen an impossible thing. Supernatural ent.i.ties couldn't just appear in the middle of the air and deliver warnings. However, impossibilities were becoming commonplace in his life lately. Maybe it was time to rea.s.sess his basic a.s.sumptions about the world.

"It communicates with you?"

"I can read the sacred light." Harbinger turned to his men. "This place isn't safe. Spread the word. We're leaving tonight."

"Who is leaving, sir?" a guard said.

"Everybody. We will have one last ceremony right after sunset, where we will prepare a full batch of nectar. Then, we will burn the Farm to the ground. I want no evidence left behind."

"But all the reagents won't be finished for another two weeks, sir. We can't make a full batch now."

"We will make as much as we can. This piece of garbage will provide the fresh blood we need." Harbinger sneered at Smythe. "Clean him up and put him in a sacrificial gown."

"But, sir," the guard said, "what about the interrogation?"

"Breaking him will take more time than I can afford. I have to pack up my office and get ready to move out. All of us have a lot of work to do in the next few hours. As soon as the ceremony ends, we're departing."

"Yes, sir."

About forty men in black robes stood on a stone platform in the middle of an empty field. The platform was made of hexagonal, granite flagstones with geometric patterns carved into the surfaces. Six old-fashioned torches provided the only light. The men formed a half-circle around a cl.u.s.ter of tables in the center.

Smythe lay on one of the tables, held very securely by leather straps. He wore a white, silk gown, which completely failed to keep him warm in the night air. Numbness was spreading as his body temperature fell. An IV drained blood from his arm and dripped it into a large beaker.

On another table there was a tall rack of chemistry equipment. Clamps held vials containing various liquids, including some of his blood. Bunsen burners gently warmed the reagents as they flowed through a crazy maze of tubes and filters. At the bottom a sticky, black liquid oozed into a crystal flask.

The poison, Smythe thought. He had gleaned from overheard conversations that this "nectar" was the cause of PRooFS. If he could collect a pure sample for a.n.a.lysis, he might be able to find a cure and save thousands of lives. Unfortunately, that wasn't going to happen. He would be dead very soon.

He looked up at the night sky. Without the city lights to wash them out, he could see thousands of stars. They were like tiny jewels in the blackness. Beautiful, he thought. He fixed his gaze on the stars. They might be the last thing he ever saw.

Somewhere in the distance, helicopter blades made a drum beat in the sky.

Harbinger stood apart from his men. "For five years we have gathered here to perform our most secret rituals," he said. "Tonight, unfortunately, will be the last time. The Spirit of the Night warned me our enemies are near, and no place is safe. The destruction of the carnival is just a prelude to the many difficulties we will face. Fortunately, we are strong, purposeful, and disciplined. We will triumph. We must triumph!" He raised his clenched fist and shook it.

He put his hand on the flask of poison. "We have enough nectar to release one hundred thousand souls from this wretched world. That is less than we had planned, but it is enough for the first lesson. Humanity will learn death should be embraced, not feared. The era of the eternal night will begin! Glory to the Spirit! Glory!"

The men echoed his last words.

Smythe rolled his head. He couldn't feel the cold anymore. His eyes began to close, and he knew they would never open again.

There was a tingling warmth in his guts. He had felt the same sensation while on the roof of the grocery store in Melrose Park. This time he knew what it meant even though the knowledge had no rational basis. G.o.d was angry. The time had come for His enemies to be slaughtered.

Smythe found it easy to keep his eyes open now.

"Our enemies lack mercy or understanding," Harbinger said. "They will murder us. They will torture us. They will bewilder us with lies. Do not lose faith! I have supreme confidence in all of you. You know where to go and what to do. I gave you all the needed skills." He looked up at the sky. "The night will protect us, and the Spirit will give us power."

A shadow silently detached from the darkness beyond the platform. It was dressed in gray robes and carried a machete in each hand. The huge blades were polished to a mirror finish that reflected the torchlight. They spun in her hands like fan blades.

Ethel had arrived.

Smythe wondered if he were hallucinating. He could almost see the specter of death walking beside her. Shadows flowed from her like a waterfall. It was terrifying.

The Eternals reacted immediately to Ethel's presence. Suddenly, forty men with knives surrounded her. She just smiled at them, as if they were about to play a little game.

Smythe wondered why she was alone. Where were Aaron and Marina?

"Who are you?" Harbinger said.

"I am the wrath of the Lord," Ethel said. "You are an abomination, unfit to live in His world, and I will obliterate you."

"You're just an old woman."

She attacked. Her machetes moved like liquid lightning, too fast for Smythe's eyes to follow. Blood sprayed in all directions, and dismembered body parts quickly littered the ground. She sliced through flesh with no apparent effort. Men were dying in clumps.

Smythe had seen a lot of deadly combat over the years, but this was different. Ethel was an inhuman killing machine fueled by divine rage. She was a marionette and warrior angels were pulling her strings. He now completely understood what being a Spear meant. She was the pure form.

I'll never doubt again, he promised himself.

The Eternals quickly realized they were overmatched, so they disengaged and fell back. Ethel's eyes were black orbs as she looked around for her next target. Butchered corpses surrounded her on all sides, and the stones were slick with blood.

One of the Eternals drew a gun from inside his robes. Before he had a chance to aim it, his head exploded. Smythe recognized the effect of a large caliber rifle bullet on the human skull. A sniper was hiding in the darkness. Must be Aaron, Smythe thought. Another head burst like a watermelon being smashed with a sledgehammer.

The Eternals broke ranks and fled.

Some of them ran straight into Marina, who chose this moment to emerge from the shadows. She attacked immediately with a knife in each hand. While Ethel fought like an automaton on overdrive, Marina fought like an animal. She snarled and screamed as she shredded her enemies. The expression of pure joy on her face made Smythe wince. The woman was insane.

The Eternals wanted no part of Marina, either. The survivors scattered in all directions and disappeared into the night.

When it was quiet, Ethel walked over to Smythe and stared down at him. There was no mercy in her gaze. He knew how a mouse felt when an owl was flying overhead. Instead of killing him, she pulled the IV out of his arm.

"Have you learned your lesson?" she asked.

He nodded. "Yes, ma'am. Absolutely."

"Will you accept me as your commander and obey my orders, unconditionally?"

"Yes, ma'am." If she had told him the moon was made of cheese, he would've agreed.

"Will you follow our rules? Will you guard our secrets with your life?"

"Yes and yes."

"Then I will permit you to live," she said.

She unstrapped Smythe's arms and legs. Marina took robes from some of the bodies and wrapped him tightly. The cloth was sticky with blood, but it was warm.

Aaron walked into the light. He wore gray and black camouflage and carried a long sniper rifle on his shoulder.

"Hey!" he said. "I'm glad to see you're still alive. You had us worried. Ma'am, what are our orders? Should we pursue the enemy?"

"No," Ethel said, "chasing stragglers is not the best use of our time. Gathering intelligence is top priority right now."