Provisiones

Jason and Nick looked at each other in silence.

“When will I see you, pal?” Jason asked.

Nick shook his head. “Not sure, Jas. I leave for Alexandria tonight, prep with the Jordanian special forces, who were loyal to Jotapa’s father, the Jordanian king, then out to Saudi Arabia, to bring back Jotapa and her younger brother, Jibril, the crown prince.”

Nick’s eyes moistened.

“I wish I could be there,” he said softly. “At Mother’s funeral, I mean.”

Jason put a hand on his shoulder. “Mother would understand.”

“You’ll get Adrian’s DNA?” Nick asked.

Jason nodded. “I’ll do my damnedest.” He clasped Nick in a tight embrace, then released him abruptly, fighting for control of his emotions, and walked with Lawrence toward the red Ford Escort.

Nick stood in silence, watching from the crooked cottage doorway.

“You’ll let me know where Nick is, Lawrence?”

Lawrence nodded. “Of course.”

“I wasted so much valuable time.”

Jason unlocked the ford escort. “Hadn’t talked to him since Lily’s accident. Eight years ago.” He flung his jacket onto the backseat with his briefcase. “How much does Julia really know?”

Lawrence shook his head. “Nothing. Nothing at all. We felt it best that she remain in a position of deniability.”

Jason nodded. “Good . . . ” He hesitated. “I know you didn’t approve of the divorce, Lawrence,” he mumbled. “What with Julia being your niece, that is.”

“You’ve been like a son to me Jason,” Lawrence replied. “Always have been.” Lawrence clasped his shoulder. “Julia’s a fighter, Jason,” he said softly. “She’s a survivor.

Jason nodded, feeling suddenly vulnerable.

“It wasn’t her fault, Lawrence. She really tried. After Lily’s accident . . . the drinking . . . I drowned myself in my work. She was left to deal with Lily’s tragedy alone.” He struggled for the words. “I guess I abandoned her.”

Lawrence’s expression softened in wonder. “You still love her.”

Jason looked out toward the Atlantic. “There’ll never be anyone but Julia for me. I’ve been a damn fool,” he murmured. “She gets married in August. It’s all water under the bridge.”

“What are your plans?”

“In London for Mother’s funeral Tuesday. Then back to the States. Ten days later in Babylon—

VOX board meeting.”

“You know how to get hold of me, Jason. Come visit us in Egypt. A retreat. At the monastery.”

Lawrence’s eyes twinkled. “Feed your soul.”

Jason shook his head. “You know it’s not my thing.”

He opened the car door and eased himself into the front seat.

“Religion. I belong in a boardroom, not a church.” He switched on the ignition.

“Jason,” Lawrence said softly.

Jason looked up into his steady gaze.

“Who is more afraid: the child who is afraid of the dark . . . ” Lawrence hesitated, his eyes boring into Jason’s soul. “ . . . or the man who is afraid of the light?”

Jason looked back at Lawrence, then turned to look at Nick, still watching from the front door. Then he put the Ford into reverse, swung it around, and revved off at high speed down the winding, muddy drive back toward the N4 to Dublin.

* * *

Nick walked up slowly behind Lawrence. “He’s always been a hard nut.” He smiled “Stubborn as hell.”

Lawrence looked up at him, his pale blue eyes distant. “Stubborn, skeptical, yes.” He shook his head. “But courageous, intrepid—a truth teller, like St. Patrick.”

Nick grinned. “I can’t quite equate Jason with St. Patrick.”

Lawrence smiled, his eyes distant. “Warrrior, dear boy. Your eldest brother is a warrior.”

“You haven’t revealed yourself.” Nick studied Lawrence intently. “To Jason, I mean. As the angelic?”

Lawrence’s eyes twinkled. “A bridge too far for the rational, skeptical mind that is Jason De Vere, dear boy. All in good time.”

“Lawrence . . . ” Nick hesitated. “it’s close, isn’t it?”

Nick looked into the older man’s compassionate blue gaze, his own eyes lit with a strange exhilaration. “He’s close, isn’t he?”

Lawrence followed Nick’s gaze into the moody Irish sky.

“The three riders of the apocalypse traversed the west winds, venting their fury.” He moved his hand over the horizon.

“The fourth rider is released. Niscroc rides the pale horse, wielding his scythe.”

Nick followed Lawrence’s gaze upward to a hooded dark figure astride a pale-colored horse.

“Nisroc enters the Karmen Line, sixty-two miles above the planet Earth, as we speak.” Lawrence inhaled sharply.

“The plagues will be fearsome. The Rapture is near . . . very near, Nicholas.”

“You’ll . . . you’ll look out for Jason when I’m gone?” Nick asked. Lawrence moved his hand, and the image of the pale horse disappeared from view.

“One day, Nicholas,” Lawrence murmured, “in the not too distant future, as implausible as it may seem . . . ” His gaze fell onto a knee-high copper statuette of St. Patrick, to the left of the cottage gate.

“ . . . Jason De Vere will be the only vanguard we have left.”

“Lawrence . . . ”

Lawrence raised his hand, as though hearing something. Nick watched him intently.

Lawrence’s face paled. He bowed his head, his lips moving, then adjusted his cravat and raised troubled eyes to Nick.

“Nicholas . . . ” His voice was barely audible. “I have just received disturbing news. I have urgent matters to attend.”

Nick took a step back. He knew what would happen next, and yet, no matter how many times he had watched the transformation, it never failed to take his breath away.

Imposing though the professor’s human appearance was, now he became majestic. Noble. No longer a spry five feet nine but now well over eight feet tall. His sparse silver hair grew white and thick, past his shoulders and down to the grass, as did his beard. The professor’s cravat and elegantly cut Savile Row blazer transformed into the stately embroidered velvet ceremonial robes of an ancient king of the First Heaven.

Nick, still transfixed, stared into the ancient imperial face.

“The High Council awaits me. I shall meet you in Alexandria.”

And the professor vanished from the snowy Irish field.

Right before Nick’s eyes.