Free Under Cover of Darkness by Julie E. Czerneda Page B

their computers. We owned the Internet, as well as most other forms of mass communications. As the good book says, Know Thy Enemy. Or was that Sun Tzu?
    Slowly, lights came on in the control room and in tagged stages hundreds of small video screens lining the four walls of the room pulsed alive. A wide assortment of faces stared at me in curiosity and wary annoyance.
    â€œThe Key has been stolen,” I announced bluntly.
    â€œWhich key?” an elderly man demanded sleepily. The label on his monitor read New Zealand. “The key of knowledge, or the key of power?”
    â€œThe the Key,” I replied succinctly.
    Everybody gasped, and half of them went pale.
    â€œYou mean, the Key to That Which Should Never Be Opened?” Russia gasped in horror, tightening the towel about his waist.
    â€œYes. And it is probably being opened right at this very moment,” I added, glancing at the rooftop monitor. But there was no sign of a rain of fire, or crack of doom. Which meant that Satan didn’t have the weapons yet. But when he did . . .
    â€œActivate the homing beacon!” New York commanded. A soft knocking in the background was probably his knees banging together, or else a mariachi band warming up to perform.
    â€œThere’s a tracking device?” Tokyo asked in stunned disbelief before I could.
    â€œThere has always been a tracking device on the Key,” Paris declared, brushing back her wild crop of uncombed hair. “But the Guardian didn’t need to know. It would have made him lazy.”
    â€œOh, yeah, good thinking,” Mecca sneered, and Brazil agreed.
    â€œTracking beacon is alive,” London said, doing something offscreen. “All right, our satellites place the belt on a plane to Australia . . .”
    â€œWhat flight?” Canberra asked, lifting a telephone into view.
    â€œShoot it down!” Rome demanded, shaking a fist.
    Both were ignored. “. . . however, the Key is still in the United States,” London continued unabated. “Cen tral states . . . Illinois . . . Chicago . . .” His face lifted and he looked directly at me. “Brother, the Key is in the parking lot of your lodge!”
    â€œImpossible!” the Apache Nation cried out.
    â€œThe demons have the Key, but don’t know where the Lock is,” India cried out, slapping a palm to his forehead. “And so they assume . . .”
    â€œ. . . that the Guardian . . .”
    â€œ. . . would know the location . . .”
    â€œ. . . of both?”
    Curses were snarled in every language on Earth.
    â€œRun!” Beijing, Boston, and Bora Bora shouted in unison.
    â€œNever,” I growled, pulling the HK 9mm and working the slide. “I’ll keep them busy here while the rest of you send troops and gunships to protect the Door-of-Doors. If my death can . . .”
    â€œBut you’re at the Armory!” Paris screamed, grabbing at her hair. “That lodge holds the Weapons of Heaven!”
    Everything reeled for a moment, I had to swallow twice before words came out of my mouth. “What the freaking hell is it doing in the same town as me?” I demanded furiously. “The door should be . . .”
    â€œOn the other side of the world?” Iraq scoffed. “Then, if the clarion call sounds, the Guardian would have to fight halfway across the world through the amassed armies of hell before we could get the swords.”
    Fury boiled within me, but then eased. The argument was sound, and there was a dull slam on the front door of the lodge. The demons were trying to get in. Well, hopefully, it was them. Satan had made his demons damn tough, but if the Dark One sent any of the Fangels, the fallen angels, that had stood by his side and declared war on God . . .
    The pounding got louder. The entire building shook. A couple of the monitors wavered and went dark.
    Muttering a prayer, I pressed the cold barrel of the police gun to my forehead. Maybe if