THE ARCHANGEL FLOORED the accelerator, the engine roaring like a beast choking on its own haste. The road slid beneath the headlights with the metallic sheen of recent rain, and every curve was taken with almost military precision.
He could not afford to be late for his meeting with the Bastard—not that day, not with that kind of cargo.
His plan was simple: deliver the wooden box containing the artifact and the sealed envelope, then disappear immediately afterward. No questions. No prolonged glances.
The meeting was a necessary evil.
He knew that speaking with LaVey would be a mistake.
The man was not merely eccentric—he was a psychopath with messianic ambitions, and the Archangel had dealt with enough fanatics to recognize the look of someone who believed he could hear the voice of Hell itself.
He avoided such people the way one avoids an epidemic.
His career, built upon silent agreements and invisible missions, was living proof that survival belonged only to those who knew how to keep their distance from homicidal lunatics.
Even so, his conscience gnawed at him.
In moments of solitude, he remembered the Concubines—mutilated bodies, silenced forever, buried beneath cold, fabricated reports.
He himself had covered up the case, one of many crimes committed by the political Ripper in service to powerful men.
It was a burden he preferred not to revisit, but it was part of the game.
And on the chessboard of the Invisible Sovereigns, guilt was merely a worthless word.
Politics, power, survival—those were the true commandments.
The ringing of the phone pulled him from his thoughts.
He immediately recognized the number.
Vice President Faradday.
For a moment, he considered ignoring the call.
The idea seemed sensible.
But disobeying a man like Faradday was tantamount to signing his own death warrant.
A change of plans at this point would be devastating, and opposing him meant declaring war on someone who controlled the entire board.
He took a deep breath, activated the speakerphone, and kept his eyes fixed on the road.
— ...Are you on your way to meet the Bastard?... — asked the deep voice on the other end.
— Yes — he replied with a discreet sigh.
— ...Excellent. Just remember not to make him angry...
— Don't worry.
— ...He's extremely intelligent and dangerous. I would wager he already suspects the betrayal...
— What do you mean? — the surprise escaped before he could conceal it. — Did someone leak the information?
— ...I can't say... — Faradday replied with the calmness of a man moving pieces in the dark.
— Any recommendations, then?
— ...Yes. After delivering the package, tell him that someone close to him attempted to stab him in the back, but that the American master rejected the conspiracy. He is convinced that the Bastard is the fulfillment of the prophecy. Only one final confirmation remains before he breaks with the British and names him Ipsissimus...
The Archangel frowned.
— Will he know what I'm talking about?
— ...Without a doubt... — Faradday answered. — ...And if he believes you, he should hand you two small scrolls he carries in his pocket. Don't lose them...
— And what am I supposed to do with them?
— ...When the soulmates find the treasure, place the papers inside the Sanctuary. He will know what to do...
— Understood.
The sound of the engine filled a brief silence before the next question.
— ...How are our men doing?..
— The Italian seems to be enjoying the comforts of the hotel quite thoroughly. — The Archangel smirked. — There are rumors that he slept with the masseuse.
Faradday laughed loudly, a laugh dripping with cynicism.
— ...You're impossible!...
— It's simply an effective way to weaken the Sanctuary's resistance — he replied.
— ...Perfect...
— He also lost control when he learned about the Church's death squad. From what I heard through the wiretap, he shook hands with the man he believes ordered it.
— ...He met the hunting lord?...
— Yes. They're all gathered at the dog races.
— ...I want a complete recording of that conversation. Anything else I should know?...
— Yes, sir. The soulmates aren't alone.
— ...Who's with them?...
— The American woman. She works as the journalist's assistant. The two are involved. Would you like me to take care of her?
— ...She doesn't interest us at the moment... — Faradday replied dismissively. — ...The journalist's sexual adventures are not a priority...
— The problem is that he trusts her. She may interfere with the course of events — the Archangel warned.
— ...Monitor her. If you notice anything unusual, let me know. But don't waste resources on peripheral characters...
— I'll remain alert — he replied firmly.
— ...Excellent. And be extremely careful during your meeting with the Bastard. He may smile, but never forget: the devil knows how to disguise his laughter as well. Until later...
The call ended.
For several seconds, the Archangel remained motionless, watching the fuel gauge and the stretch of asphalt ahead.
LaVey's name echoed in his mind like an omen.
He knew that from this point forward, a single misstep would place him in the very same grave as the Concubines.