Karl was seated in the middle of the semi-circular booth, flanked by Gamaliel and Izbazel. Christine and Mercury were on the outside. Christine and Gamaliel stood up to let Karl out.

"It's not that simple, Christine," Gamaliel said. "We've been working on the Mundane Plane for most of the past seven thousand years, and after a while you realize the futility of trying to"

"Hey, Karl's on TV!" exclaimed Mercury.

A TV hanging from the ceiling in the corner was tuned to a news channel. On the screen were shaky images from someone's camcorder, taken at the event in Lodi earlier that day. The ticker on the bottom of the screen read: .

'Antichrist' Karl Grissom shot in the head... Location of body unknown...

The video showed Karl walking to his car, and then cut to a shot of the helmet being struck by a bullet and dropping out of sight. Then a white Camry pulled in between the camera and Karl. The rear door on the opposite side of the car opened, there was some blurry movement, and then the car screeched away. There were shots of Karl's deserted Saturn, surrounded by police tape.

"Holy c.r.a.p," said Mercury. "They think he's dead."

"That'll make this even easier," said Izbazel. "So what do you say, Mercury? You're not going to cause trouble for us, are you?"

"Never should have done that card trick," Mercury muttered to himself. He looked at Izbazel. "I'd prefer to stay out of it altogether."

"Then stay out of it," said Izbazel. "Stay here and finish your coffee. Do whatever it is you do. We'll take Karl off your hands."

"He is is a d.i.c.kweed," said Mercury, thoughtfully. "This isn't going to come back to me, is it?" He was absentmindedly smearing ketchup around his plate with the long edge of a French fry. a d.i.c.kweed," said Mercury, thoughtfully. "This isn't going to come back to me, is it?" He was absentmindedly smearing ketchup around his plate with the long edge of a French fry.

"We never even saw you," said Gamaliel.

Izbazel nodded. "This doesn't concern you, Merc. You just got caught in the middle of it. You're not supposed to have anything to do with the Antichrist in the first place. You didn't want to be involved in the Apocalypse, and I can respect that. So stay stay uninvolved uninvolved."

Gamaliel said, "We're not asking you to do anything. Just stay out of our way, and don't make trouble for us later on. We didn't see you, and you didn't see us. The Antichrist got shot in that parking lot, and then somebody dumped his body in a ravine in the foothills."

"Hmmm," said Mercury, "Here's the thing. There are different levels of non-involvement." He now had a fry in each hand, pushing ketchup around his plate.

Gamaliel looked puzzled. "I don't follow you."

"You see," Mercury went on, "I'm involved now, whether I like it or not. So anything that I do at this point is going to have repercussions."

"Sure," said Gamaliel. "But what do you mean by 'different levels of involvement'?"

Mercury said, "Well, for example, there's the level where I let you take Karl and give him the hole in his head he so desperately needs. That's one possibility."

"," said Gamaliel.

"And then..." Mercury started. "Hey, look! I made a ketchup angel!" He seemed genuinely surprised.

The two fallen angels looked down at Mercury's plate. He had indeed made a ketchup angel.

"Have either of you ever made a snow angel?" Mercury asked.

They shook their heads.

"Funny, isn't it? We spend hundreds of years down here and never bother to make anything, even for fun. It's such a human trait, wanting to make a mark on your surroundings."

"Vanity," said Izbazel. "Nothing lasts forever."

"True," said Mercury. "But I think I'd like to leave a mark before it's over. I want to make a snow angel. Or... no, a snowman! I'll make a snowman!"

"Folly," said Izbazel. "Talk about something impermanent. Besides, where are you going to find snow this time of year?"

Gamaliel was still examining the ketchup angel. "It looks a little like Bamrud," he said, c.o.c.king his head.

"Bamrud?" Mercury said.

"You remember. Cherub, worked for the M.O.C. until the Middle Ages."

"Oh yeah! Wasn't there some kind of scandal...?"

"They caught him skewing plague statistics. Trying to beat the spread, you know."

"That's right! What's old Bammy up to these "

"Please!" Izbazel interjected, "Can we get back to the matter at hand? Mercury, all we need from you is an a.s.surance that you won't interfere with our plan to eliminate the Antichrist."

"Oh, right," Mercury said. "As I was saying, there are different levels of non-involvement. On one level, I let you take Karl and have your way with him. Another...." Mercury sat back and smiled broadly. "Another is that I sit here talking to you about that first level, not to mention ketchup angels, just long enough for Christine to get Karl back on the interstate. That's another possibility."

Izbazel stood up. A white Camry peeled out of the parking lot.

"d.a.m.n you, Mercury! I told you to stay out of this!"

"I am," said Mercury. "Completely uninvolved. You guys want cheesecake?"

"Let's go," barked Izbazel. He started for the door, Gamaliel following. "We'll catch them on the bikes."

"I wouldn't do that if I were you," Mercury said.

"Izbazel stopped and turned, fuming. "More non-involvement, Mercury?"

"If you guys leave, I won't have anybody to talk to. I was thinking of calling Uzziel."

Izbazel growled, "What's Uzziel going to do? He doesn't have the authority to "

"Forget it," Gamaliel said. "He's got us."

"How's that?" Izbazel asked.

"Angel Band. They'll trace it right here. They'll be on us in seconds. Of course," Gamaliel said, looking sideways at Mercury, "they'll get him too."

"Yeah, they'll get me," Mercury said. "But where am I going to hide when this place is gone anyway?" Mercury said. "They were always going to get me. Now or a few weeks from now, what's the difference?"

Izbazel was furious. "So you're going to let the Antichrist live? You're just going to let it happen. The Apocalypse, Mercury. The end of your precious world."

Mercury shrugged. "None of my business," he said. "Have a seat, boys. It's just the three of us, stuck in Lodi again."

Gamaliel sighed. "I always hated the Allman Brothers."

SIXTEEN.

There were thirty-eight Charlie's Grills on I-5 in between Yreka, California and Los Angeles, s.p.a.ced so that on a road trip from one end of the state to another one could eat breakfast, lunch and dinner not to mention brunch, linner, and several other meals to be named later from a completely standardized menu of entrees that ranged in quality from pa.s.sable to mediocre.

This proliferation of family restaurants was not, despite the protestations of anti-sprawl advocates and concerned cardiologists, part of any kind of diabolical plan. This isn't to say that there was no plan, or that there weren't demonic ent.i.ties involved in its inception, but the actual marketing strategy and franchise agreements were no more intrinsically Satanic than was the norm for the hospitality industry. Charlie's Grill was evil only to the extent that it concealed the unremarkable character of its food with a facade constructed of faux brick walls and artificially weathered signs promoting no-longer-existent brands of soda and/or motor oil with slogans like "The smoothest yet!" That is to say, it was about as evil as Applebee's.

Charlie's Grill was, pure and simple, a money-making operation for Lucifer, who had long ago come to terms with the fact that while spreading depravity and ruination was his true calling, it didn't always pay the bills. Lucifer was a true believer in the adage that no one ever went broke overestimating the number of times a day that Americans can pull over for cheeseburgers. It wasn't an exciting or particularly sinister way of making money, but it did make possible all sorts of other costly but worthwhile diabolical schemes, so Lucifer expanded the operation at every opportunity.

Thus it was not really all that surprising that precisely as Izbazel and Gamaliel sat fuming at Mercury in the Charlie's Grill on the outskirts of Lodi, another fallen angel was just finishing up a grilled cheese sandwich in a Charlie's Grill just north of Los Angeles. The angel's name was Nisroc.

Nisroc, as I believe I've established, had a habit of eating grilled cheese sandwiches when he was nervous. He was in the process of developing another bad habit, that of rebelling against the Divine Plan although to be fair, this was at present more of a vague inclination that was in danger of gelling into habit than a full-blown habit per se per se.

Nisroc pulled out of the parking lot in his green 1987 Chevrolet El Camino, sipping an extra large Diet Dr Pepper. He had no particular reason for choosing diet soda, but drinking unpalatable low calorie beverages eased his guilt somewhat at indulging gustatory cravings that had no basis in his angelic biology. He turned north on I-5, traveled for 6.2 miles and then, slavishly following the GPS unit he had been given, made an abrupt right turn into the middle of nowhere.

He drove due east or as close to due east as the terrain would let him for another 1.8 miles, kicking up so much dust that, even with his superhuman vision, he could hardly see to avoid the rocks and occasional specimen of brillo-pad-like vegetation. Meanwhile, the GPS was imploring him to please make a U-turn at the earliest opportunity, because it did not at all like where this was going. Nisroc didn't particularly like where it was going either, but he was pretty sure he no longer had much of a choice. At last the El Camino coasted to a stop as near as he could get to the coordinates he had been given. Taking a deep breath, Nisroc grabbed a silvery briefcase from the pa.s.senger seat and got out.

Spying the horizon, he saw that he was not alone. A big white refrigerated truck the sort used to deliver frozen fish to restaurants sat perched on a plateau about two hundred yards away. Next to it stood a lone figure. Nisroc walked toward him.

They met atop the plateau, Nisroc and another angel, who introduced himself as Ramiel. Nisroc knew the name Ramiel had recently been cla.s.sified as Fallen. Nisroc wondered how long it would take for his own paperwork to go through. His superiors had undoubtedly noticed his disappearance by now.

"So this is it," said Ramiel, taking the case from Nisroc. The case was plain except for a small insignia of a skull.

"The one and only," said Nisroc, feeling less certain than ever of his decision.

"Do they know it's missing?" Ramiel asked.

Nisroc shrugged. "I've been out of contact for a few days. They've probably cla.s.sified me as AWOL by now. I imagine finding the case is going to be a fairly high priority."

Ramiel smiled. "Don't worry," he said. "We'll put this baby to good use."

Ramiel carried the case to a flat area of ground that had been marked with orange spray paint and set it down. He dialed the combination 6, 6, 6 6, 6, 6 and popped open the case. The device's screen came to life, displaying an hourgla.s.s while it readied itself. and popped open the case. The device's screen came to life, displaying an hourgla.s.s while it readied itself.

Nisroc considered leaving, but suspected that this course of action would be taken as cowardice. No, now that he had come this far, he would have to see it through.

"Let's see what this baby can do," said Ramiel. Nisroc got the feeling that Ramiel was the sort who used the word 'baby' to refer to inanimate objects a lot. He sighed.

Nisroc was at this moment supposed to be on the other side of the globe, in southern Asia. He was supposed to have delivered the Attache Case of Death to an Australian relief agency working in Kashmir, but he didn't understand the reasoning behind this decision, and his requests for justification went unanswered.

When an agent of Lucifer approached him, offering him anything he wanted in exchange for the case, he had initially said no. He was not one to be swayed by material things although the eternal membership in Lucifer's exclusive golf club and resort on the Infernal Plane was sorely tempting. What finally pushed him to Lucifer's side was that while Heaven only offered unsatisfactory bureaucratic answers to Nisroc's questions, h.e.l.l had at least explained to him what they planned on doing with the case. He would have preferred that their plan was something other than reducing Earth to an uninhabitable ash-heap, but at least they were up front about their motivations. One had to respect that.

He still had mixed feelings about the whole business, but he supposed it was too late to ask Heaven for a do-over at this point. He had heard that the Almighty was infinitely merciful, but the bureaucracy was eternally unforgiving and it was the latter that signed his paychecks.

"Mind helping me with the corpses?" said Ramiel.

Nisroc grunted a.s.sent. He imagined that as one of the Fallen, he would be subjected to questions like that more often.

They walked to the refrigerated truck and opened the back. The truck was parked facing up a slope, and as the doors swung open, a pile of corpses tumbled out onto the dusty ground. There must have been a baker's dozen of them, in an a.s.sortment of shapes and colors.

"Robbed the city morgue last night," said Ramiel. "You'd be amazed how many people L.A. goes through in a day."

Having been to L.A., Nisroc was not at all amazed. He nodded, feeling a bit squeamish. "I don't suppose we could just "

"No miracles," said Ramiel. "Can't take a chance on somebody picking up our signature. We've got to move them by hand."

"Won't Heaven pick up the signature of the case anyway, when we use it?"

"They might," said Ramiel. "Although I understand these cases have a surprisingly small energy footprint. But yeah, we've got to do this fast. Five minutes and we're out of here."

"Okay," said Nisroc. "Which one first?"

"Doesn't matter," said Ramiel. "Let's drag them all over and line them up. Hopefully we've got enough."

They dragged the corpses to a spot near the case, lining them up side-by-side.

Ramiel opened a panel inside the Attache Case of Death, pulling out a pair of what looked like defibrillation paddles. They were connected to the case by thick coils of wire.

"Ready to see this baby in action?" asked Ramiel.

Nisroc smiled weakly.

"Grab that shovel," Ramiel commanded.

"What do I need a shovel for?"

"What do you think? These guys are going to be popping up like gophers. I need you to whack them as soon as they wake up."

"What? We're going to kill them again?"

"Kill, stun, whatever. I just don't want them wandering around and asking stupid questions while I'm trying to work. We don't have time for that."

"It seems unsportsmanlike," said Nisroc, observing the row of corpses piteously. "Cruel, even."

"Look, they're already dead, okay? They're supposed supposed to be dead. You can't do anything to them that's worse than what's already happened." to be dead. You can't do anything to them that's worse than what's already happened."

"But doesn't bringing someone back to life give you some responsibility for them? It's like adopting a puppy. You can't just whack the puppy with a shovel when you're done with it."

"Why not?"