CS 01 The Grail Conspiracy (40 page)

The Cup of Christ had come back to her.

She turned to watch John as he walked to a stainless steel cart near
a far corner. He stared at an incubator with a microscope attached.
Digital displays flashed above it showing temperature, levels of oxygen
saturation, CO2 concentration, humidity, and other vital indicators.
Inside was what appeared to be an ordinary petri dish. He peered
through the lens of the microscope and became still as if spellbound.

"John?" she whispered.

Slowly lifting his head, he made the sign of the cross.

"Is that it?" she asked, standing beside him.

He faced her, his eyes hazed, a thunderstruck expression.

"Hurry before someone comes. Destroy it," she said.

John didn't move.

Cotten placed the silver case on the counter and put her eye to the
microscope. There in the dish she saw four cells like tiny bubbles
clumped together.

"Blastocyst," she whispered. It looked exactly like every picture
she'd ever seen of a fertilized egg growing and dividing-the beginning of a human life.

"What if it's really ..." John faltered. His words sounded painful.
"We could be murdering the Son of God."

Cotten's lips parted to speak-Geh el crip resonated in her head.

"But what if we're wrong?" He stared at her, but his eyes were
filled with doubt. His voice cracked. "How could I ever live with
myself knowing I was no different than those who drove the nails
into his hands?"

She reached to touch his face. Here in the final moment, John
wasn't going to be able to destroy the clone. He was on fire inside,
she realized. His entire being burned with dread. All the doubts and
concerns he had expressed must be ripping him apart. Was this thing
the Antichrist? Or was John about to stop the Second Coming?
Would destroying the clone be the equivalent of committing abortion? Murder?

"I can't," John said. "I can't play God."

A chorus of voices echoed in Cotten's head. "Geh el crip." She took
his hand. "We aren't playing God. He chose us-brought us together
and led us to this place." She choked. "Thornton. Vanessa. I can't
believe they were sacrificed for no reason. John, you made me see
reality. Why did I wander onto that dig site in Iraq at just the right
moment? Why did my twin die at birth only to talk to me in a language you said is the language of heaven? Why have you searched for
the way God wants you to serve? John, this is it."

Her mind cleared. She was the only one who could stop the Son
of the Dawn. John's very faith gave him doubts-and God knew that
would happen. That was why she was chosen. She was part of the
contract her father had made with God.

Geh el crip.

John gripped her arm and took a step back, pulling her away.

"I'm sorry," she said, pushing him aside. "But I have to do this."
She ripped the hoses and wires from the incubator, then picked up
the entire apparatus and smashed it on the floor.

As if in slow motion, the box split open on impact sending jagged
transparent shards across the tile. The microscope tore loose and
spun on the floor at her feet. But the petri dish miraculously landed
upright and intact.

Cotten glared at it for an instant, and then stomped down, crushing it under her heel.

The dish shattered.

"It's over," she said. "It's done."

Suddenly, the lab filled with the blare of alarm horns. Cotten covered her ears. Red and white strobes flashed.

"Come on," John yelled, the noise appearing to startle him back to
life.

"Wait," Cotten said, spotting a row of oxygen canisters along the
wall. Her eyes searched the room. Near the door was a workstation
with pipes leading to it. "Gas lines." She recognized the Bunsen burner
on the counter.

She rushed to the canisters, yanked the hoses from their attachments, and opened their valves. Oxygen hissed into the room.

The Bunsen burner had a hose running from its base to a gas outlet on one of the pipes. She flipped the control handle, turning on the
gas flow. She rotated the knurled knob at the base of the burner, funneling the gas up through the barrel.

"Light, light, light," she yelled over the screaming alarm. "Find a
match!"

John grabbed a Duraflame lighter gun from a nearby shelf.

She took it and ignited the burner. It flickered pale and weak.
Quickly she adjusted the Bunsen's air vents, and at last the luminous
flame turned orange and yellow. She wasn't after the kind of flame the burner was most often adjusted to produce-not the controlled compact flame with a pale violet-blue halo around a dark core.

She wanted fire-the fires of hell.

Quickly she retrieved the silver case that contained the Grail.
"Let's get out of here," she said, grasping John's arm.

They turned toward the door. It was already opening.

Then the beast was captured, and with him the False Prophet who
worked signs in his presence, by which he deceived those who received
the mark of the beast and those who worshiped his image. These two
were cast alive into the lake of fire burning with brimstone. (Revelation
19:20)

COTTEN CLUTCHED THE TITANIUM case, and was set to run, every
fiber in her body, every strip of sinew and thread of muscle on the
ready. But then she caught sight of the man standing just outside the
open door.

A flash of heat blew in, and the air sizzled. Cotten shuddered.

An old gentleman gazed at her, his eyes piercing.

John stared at the man in the doorway. "The missing tenth horn,"
he said.

A debilitating pain just above Cotten's eye sockets wracked hersimilar to the pain that follows eating ice cream too quickly. But this
was more intense, like glowing hot spikes driving through her skull,
the muscles to her eyes-her very brain-cramping, burning. Cotten
pressed the heel of her left hand to her forehead and cried out. "John,
get us out. I can't see."

She heard a snap, and then John took her hand and put an object
between her thumb and forefinger. His crucifix from the chain around
his neck.

He lifted her hand by the wrist. "We've got to do this together," he
said.

John spoke while moving her forward.

"In the Name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy
Spirit. Amen.

"Most glorious Prince of the Heavenly Armies, Saint Michael the
Archangel, defend us in our battle against principalities and powers,
against the rulers of the world of darkness, against the spirits of
wickedness in the high place."

The pain slackened for an instant, and Cotten fluttered her eyes
briefly to see John. Sweat beaded above his lip and on his brow. But
there was confidence in his face and his voice. His eyes bore down on
the old man who was now more a mirage, a quavering image like heat
rising from pavement. The pain in her eyes made her close them.

"Cotten."

The voice shot nerve impulses through her, and the room flooded
with the distinct aromas of fresh cut hay, shucked corn, Kentucky
soil.

"You haven't forgotten me, have you?" the voice said.

"Daddy?" Cotten said, a wave of emotion washing over her.

"It's not your father, Cotten," John said. "He's a liar." John inched
forward and continued the liturgy. ". . . take hold of the dragon, the
old serpent, which is the devil and Satan, bind him and cast him into
the bottomless pit that he may no longer seduce the nations."

Again the voice-this time in the language only she could understand. "Cri sprok inhime. Sprak then e vigo. Listen to me. You are my
little girl."

She felt John use their joined hands to make the sign of the cross.

Three steps forward.

"In the Name of Jesus Christ, our Lord."

"Gril te." It was Vanessa. "Put your trust in me, Cotten. I'm your
best friend. I died for you. Step away from the priest. He is the one
who lies."

"Stop!" Cotten shouted, pressing a hand to her ear. "Nessi, forgive
me.

"Don't listen to the voices, Cotten," John shouted. "It's a trick. He's
trying to weaken you."

"No!" Cotten screamed.

The old man's voice thundered. The glass beakers trembled. "Tunka
tee rosfal ee Nephilim. You belong to the Fallen. You are one of us."

John gripped Cotten's wrist even more tightly. "Don't listen!"

A hiss, like steam escaping a boiler, sounded, and her flesh seared
with the heat of the old man's breath.

"Behold the Cross of the Lord, flee bands of enemies," John said.
"May Thy mercy, Lord, descend upon us."

Sign of the cross.

Hot wind blasted her-a gale spun out of hell.

"We drive you from us," John said, "whoever you may be, unclean
spirits, all satanic powers, all infernal invaders, all wicked legions."

The pain in her head grew with a fury. Cotten balked and stumbled. She feared she was going to vomit and felt herself heave.

John edged her onward. "God the Father commands you."

Sign of the cross.

The floor seemed to vibrate. The hot wind, the quivering, her
body shaking to its core-she was losing touch. Again she stumbled,
one leg collapsing beneath her.

"God the Son commands you."

Sign of the cross.

"God the Holy Spirit commands you."

Sign of the cross.

John reached around her, pulling her to her feet.

The air pressure in the lab throbbed-pounding, crushing.

"This is not where it ends." The voice was harsh like stones scraping. "You are weak like your father."

The heat boiled Cotten's strength from her. Another stab of pain
made her rip her hand from John's.

"By the God who so loved the world that He gave up His only
Son, that every soul believing in Him might not perish but have everlasting life." John grabbed her hand again.

The heat was so intense now, Cotten felt her skin blister.

John's voice echoed above the wind that nearly shattered her
eardrums. "Holy, Holy, Holy is the Lord, the God of Hosts. Oh Lord,
hear my prayer. God of heaven, God of earth, God of Angels, God of
Archangels-"

The crescendo of the wind.

The blast of hair-singeing air.

The boom of John's powerful voice.

The stabbing pain.

Cotten heard crashing sounds as tables overturned, the shattering
of glass, the clanging of steel on steel. She wanted to give up, to fall on
her knees, to beg for mercy, but John held her to him, more carrying
her now than leading her. She hadn't the strength or the will to continue on herself. For an instant she tried to break from him and flee,
but he held her firm.

"Oh Lord, hear my prayer. And let my cry come unto Thee."

Cotten twisted away. "I can't. I can't."

John yanked her back and enfolded her.

"We beseech Thee through Jesus Christ Our Lord. Amen. From
the snares of the devil, deliver us oh Lord."

Sign of the cross.

"In the Name of the Father-"

Sign of the cross

"And of the Son-"

Sign of the cross.

"And of the Holy Spirit."

Sign of the cross.

Suddenly the wind died to a trickle, and the heat in it cooled. The
unbearable pain in her head seeped away. She opened her eyes in
time to see a flare of light and a whirl of dust where the old man had
stood.

John and Cotten passed through the door. She leaned on him,
drained, her throat scorched raw.

He held her to him as he slammed the push button panel, making
the door close.

Before it shut, Cotten caught a last glimpse inside the lab-she
could see a slight swirling of smoky air, papers drifting down, the
flicker of the flame from the Bunsen burner.

John cradled her face between his palms. "It's going to blow any
minute. We've got to get out of here."

They ran, John pulling her as her strength slowly returned.
Behind them, the door to the lab sealed in the deadly combination of
pure oxygen and an open flame.

Cotten tried to focus, but everything still blurred-her vision-her
awareness. A thick mist clung inside her skull, her thoughts jumbled,
foggy, and disconnected. John pulled her down the hall leading from
the lab, and she could hear their footfalls, echoing their way into her
ears.

The alarm horns shrieked like prehistoric creatures in mortal
combat. The fire-like sensation on her skin faded, but she feared it left blisters behind. The unusual smell of sulfur filled her nostrils while
she ran, hugging the travel case.

Panicky voices rang throughout the house as she and John burst
into the foyer at the base of the huge staircase. Servants, caterers, and
guests ran past them toward the front entrance.

"Come on," John yelled, guiding her into the rush of bodies.

Suddenly, she sensed fresh, damp night air, and stumbled down
the porch steps and across the drive-her shoes sinking into the soft
earth. Cotten choked back a cry. A breeze off the river swept over her,
and tears spilled down her cheeks.