CHAPTER 8
Ryan followed Monica up the apartment steps. Despite the fact that it was he, not Monica who knew where he was going, that irritating gentleman in him insisted on “ladies first.” At one point, she paused to pat the side of her flight attendant uniform. Her shoes and his thudded on the stairs.
Monica paused at the landing where the stairs branched off in two directions. She glanced at Ryan with a puzzled look. Before she could say a word, he answered the question she formed on her lips. “Left,” he said simply.
Monica turned to the left, and Ryan followed. It only took a moment for them to arrive at her new apartment. For a moment, Monica looked from door to door. “That one’s mine.“ Ryan pointed at the door to the right. “This one’s yours.”
Pausing at the mahogany door, Monica inserted her key into the lock. It opened easily. Monica framed the doorway for a moment, scanning the living room. Ryan hopped from foot to foot outside, waiting to be allowed in. As he controlled the burst of impatience, he rubbed his hands on his pants.
To his surprise, Monica burst into peals of laughter. Ryan’s curiosity rose. “What?”
Monica gestured for him to look over her shoulder. Ryan did so. The apartment looked empty. But as he looked over the living room, he saw, in one corner, a huge pile of furniture and appliances. Tables, chairs, a couch, love seat, refrigerator, and the rest lay in a heap against the paneled wall. A burst of uncontrollable laughter escaped from his throat.
“I think...” Ryan gasped through his laughs. “I think you need some help here.” He leaned against the wall by the doorway, doubled over.
Monica nodded agreement, her giggles subsiding. “Yes, I do.” Then, after a pause, she said, “Is that an offer, Captain Whittaker?” She took a deep breath.
Ryan's laughter also subsided. “Well, I couldn’t very well leave you to try and sort through that pile by yourself.”
He looked towards Monica, and their eyes locked. The look alone was enough to send them both into peals of laughter all over again. “Come on,” Ryan gasped. “Let’s see what all you have there.”
Fifteen minutes later, pieces of furniture littered the living room. Even the refrigerator stood against the wall, next to the kitchen entrance, and an unmade bed stood near the center of the room. Monica and Ryan looked at the progress they had made so far. Ryan put his hands on his hips, and Monica folded her arms, smiling.
“Well,” observed Ryan, rubbing his pants, “at least you can see all of it now.” Monica nodded agreement. Without warning, the two of them burst into more fits of laughter.
At last, Ryan leaned against the wall, wiping beads of sweat off his face. Monica winced. “Forgive me, Mr. Whittaker. You must be thirsty.” She wiped her hands on her pants. “Would you like some water?”
Ryan nodded. “Thanks; that would be good.” He collapsed into an armchair and thrust his hands into his pants pockets. Monica’s shoes thudded softly in the soft carpet as she hurried toward the kitchen doorway. Ryan leaned against the back of the chair and relaxed. It felt so good to sit down!
When Monica brought him a glass of water, he rose to his feet and thanked her. Wrapping his fingers around the glass, he held it up to his lips. The wet coolness felt good on his parched throat.
Swallowing a gulp, he sighed. “Well, I’m wondering how my sister and Richard are holding out.” He shook his head. “Jessica was the sweetest little niece a bachelor could have. It’s so hard to lose her.” He bit his lower lip. “It’s even harder for Christina and Richard.”
“It certainly is.” Sympathy welled up in Monica’s voice. “There are millions of babies and wee children all over the world, who have vanished.”
Ryan nodded, as the now-familiar pain settled in his gut. He glanced at his watch. “Well, Monica, if we’re going to be on time for our flight, we’d better leave now. We can arrange your furniture properly when we come back.”
“Yes,” Monica agreed. “We mustn’t be late for our first flight.”
Setting the glass on the coffee table, Ryan strode toward the door. He paused to let Monica go ahead of him, then closed the door as he followed her.
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“I mean, I haven’t seen Ryan in months and so much has happened since then.” Christina leaned against the wall for one second, fidgeting; her shoes thudded softly on the carpet as she paced across the living room. “I mean, there’s the obvious stuff--the Rapture and all--but there’s also been personal changes. And now he’s working for that guy from Italy that neither of us trust and I’m honestly not sure if I really want to see him again, but I know he wants to see me again and it just won’t feel right ignoring my big brother when he’s gonna visit after so much has happened.”
Christina twisted strands of hair around her index finger as she paused. “After all these months of unemployment, I know I should be grateful that he’s got a job once more--and it is a good job, to be sure. And he’s lucky to be able to get here, even though it isn’t really time off work or anything…” Her voice trailed off. “Gloria, what am I going to do?” She threw up her hands and shook her head. She tried, unsuccessfully, to stifle a small moan as she shook her head from side to side.
Through Christina's worried babble, Gloria sat patiently on the couch, with one leg dangling over the other and her hands clasped. Now she tilted her head to the side with a silly smile.
“What are you smiling about?” Christina asked, as annoyance welled up. Gloria tried unsuccessfully to hold back a giggle. After a couple of failed attempts, she quit trying and let her giggles go. Christina put her hands on her hips, glaring at the angel. “And what is so funny, Gloria?”
“You!” Gloria gasped. “I think there’s a little factor in all this you’re forgetting.” With that, Gloria suppressed her giggles. “Christina, you should have seen yourself. You were pacing up and down so hard that if you'd kept that up any longer, Richard would have noticed a rut in the carpet when he got home.” She rubbed her fingers against the end table next to the couch, as an amused grin spread across her face.
Christina let her hands drop at her sides and a small chuckle escaped her lips. Gloria continued, “You’re so worried about how you will handle this and how Ryan will react to your newfound faith...you haven’t even stopped to consider that God is the One in control here.”
Blushing, Christina sank down onto the couch next to Gloria. The mattress sagged and creaked as she turned to face her friend. “I don't know,” she said. “I guess I was just thinking too much about this from the human aspect. Old habits die hard.” Gloria nodded her understanding, then laid a hand on Christina’s shoulder.
“You know, Christina, we should be praying, not worrying. We’ve been praying for Richard, and praying for you, and for any number of other things, but so far, I don't think we’ve prayed for your brother. He needs it just as much as anyone else. Why don’t we pray for him now?” Gloria squeezed Christina’s shoulder.
Christina agreed, and the human and angel joined hands in prayer.
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Richard leaned back in his seat and sighed. The flight to Los Angeles had gone smoothly. Now he and Andrew were returning to New York. In less than an hour, they would land at Kennedy International Airport. The mattress sagged beneath him as he fidgeted. Sunlight flooded the cockpit, forcing him to wear a pair of sunglasses.
“I can’t wait to get home,” he said. “Ryan’s flying his new boss to New York.” He rubbed his hands on the front of his shirt.
“I know.” Andrew smiled. “Puccini’s supposed to make a speech to the American people.” Richard nodded. Andrew reclined against his chair in a relaxed position. A Styrofoam cup sat in front of him. Earlier, a flight attendant had brought him some lemonade.
Several minutes passed in silence, as Richard drifted into thought and Andrew sipped his lemonade. Watching the fleecy clouds drift on past the windshield, Richard pondered the events of the last few days. What a roller-coaster he’d been on during that time! The initial loss of his first officer and of some of the passengers...the shock of learning that his baby daughter had also disappeared…Christina’s turning religious...and Ryan’s announcement, over the phone, that Puccini had hired him as his private pilot, after months of unemployment. And now, Puccini and Ryan were flying to New York. It would be a treat to see his best friend, if only for a short while.
At least, Richard thought, I’ll get to see Ryan again. I’m not looking forward to seeing Christina! He frowned at the prospect. It distressed him that he now felt the same way about being with her as he had felt about being with Timothy.
Out loud, he said, “I don’t know if I’ll go home tonight. I may just spend the night in a motel near the airport. I’m sure I’ll be quite busy during the next weeks.”
Andrew frowned. “What about Christina? It’s hard on her, already, having lost her baby. It’s going to be even harder for her if you’re not there with her, at least some of the time.”
“Hard on her?” Richard glared at his first officer. “What about me?” He clenched his fists so tightly his knuckles turned white. “Christina hasn’t been the same since she went on that stupid religious kick! Always praying--won’t smoke anymore--always reading that stupid Bible of hers! I’ve seen her do it. I won’t have it, Andrew--after all, I am the man of the house! If she doesn’t get off this God stuff soon, I may just--!”
He slammed his fist against the control panel, then leaned back to take a deep breath. Rage had made his heart race wildly; he could feel it pounding against his chest. Pain shot through his knuckles, making him wince.
At last, he looked at Andrew, who sat gazing at him with a sorrowful expression on his face. “Look at it this way,” Andrew said gently. “Christina’s new faith is going to sustain her more than anything else could. With the loss of her daughter and the changes that are now taking place throughout the world, she’s in desperate need of something to keep her going.” He took a sip of lemonade.
Richard grimaced. “That may be, but it’ll take more than fairy tales to do that. I’m a realist, Andrew--I don’t believe in escaping to fantasy to help you cope.” He removed his cap to rub his hair, from front to back, then placed the cap back on his head.
Andrew swallowed. “Besides, with this new crime wave that’s sweeping the city, do you really think it would be safe to leave her there alone?”
Richard winced. He had forgotten all about that! With a sigh, he shook his head. “No, it wouldn’t.” Chagrin filled his heart. “You’re right.”
Shaking his head, he glanced at the clock. “We’ll be landing in about 15 minutes. I’d better tell the passengers.” He smiled. “At least, as soon as we land, Andrew, we’ll be heading right for the place where Puccini’s going to hold his press conference. Ryan will be there, and--” A teasing note entered Richard’s voice. “I’m sure your friend, Monica, will be, too.” Andrew chuckled.
Richard reached above his head to turn on the intercom. For a moment, he paused before making his latest announcement to the passengers.
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Striding down the crowded entryway of the convention center, Ryan searched for his sister and brother-in-law. His shoes thudded on the thin brown carpet as he rushed into the hall and turned right. They'd promised to be there, and Ryan had no doubt they would keep that promise. He bumped against passer-bys as he made his way through the milling crowd clogging the corridor. “Excuse me,” he said, more than once.
Once, Ryan reached up and almost unconsciously tugged on his tie. He hated wearing clothes like this--that was why he’d always wanted to be a private pilot and not work for an airline. Formal clothes were not his style. Ryan wanted to pull the tie off and throw his jacket across the hall. If only there’d been time to change into his uniform before he and Monica had left! But it had taken so long to arrange her furniture that it had been too close to time for departure when they had stopped to rest.
Ryan fought back a chuckle when he thought of what Kristen Crossman would think of his yanking his tie off and tossing it aside. She’s probably stare at him in disbelief. Not that her staring at him would be a bad thing...
“Ryan!” came the voice of his sister. “Hey, Ryan!” Ryan's mind came crashing back to reality as Christina’s voice startled him back to reality. Christina stood at the bend where the hallway turned.
“Brownie!” he yelled. Without thinking, he used the nickname he’d given her when she’d chosen a chocolate-brown dress to wear on her first day of school, when she’d been five years old. As Christina rushed toward him, joy etched on her face, Ryan opened his arms and let his little sister practically crash against him, enveloping him in a huge bear hug.
Ryan understood several things from their hug...things that he’d suspected, until this hug confirmed them. Christina was indeed devastated by the loss of Jessica, and her hug also seemed to indicate she was downright afraid of losing her brother, too. The way she clung to him reminded Ryan of when they’d been little, how she had clung to him after some bullies had teased her on the playground. Reaching up, Ryan gently ran his fingers through her hair, to comfort her, as she buried her face in his shoulder. If only he could console her for her loss of Jessica!
When she pulled out of his arms, Ryan noticed something strange. “Where's Richard?” he asked, scanning the hall with eyebrows furrowed in puzzlement.
Christina answered casually, as if unaffected by Richard's absence. “Oh, I think he’s on his way here from the airport.” She shrugged, patting her hair.
Ryan bit his lower lip. Christina always picked Richard up at the airport after flights. This meant one of two things: either Christina had been too anxious to see Ryan to wait for Richard at the airport, or she and Richard were having marital trouble. As much as he wanted to believe it was the former, that just didn’t seem to connect in his mind. Christina had always been a very patient person, and she loved Richard too much to skip out on meeting him at the airport. Not to mention that unless Richard had gotten another ride here, it would mean he’d driven himself to the airport in the first place--another hint of trouble. Despite his suspicions, Ryan didn't ask.
“Are you doing OK?” he asked, knowing the answer already.
To his surprise, Christina made the “so-so” motion with her hand. “I'm still having trouble adjusting to the fact that Jessica's...gone...but at least…” Christina paused, biting her lip.
Ryan wanted to ask what she was going to say, but he didn't get the chance before Richard appeared. “Hey, Ryan!” he called from several feet away.
Ryan shook hands with, then briefly hugged, his brother-in-law. It only took a few moments to notice that Richard seemed to be almost ignoring Christina. Not only did he not hug and kiss her, as he normally did when first returning from a trip, he didn’t even look at her. Christina glanced at the floor, pain in her eyes, then, with a sigh, turned her attention to Ryan. She plastered a smile on her lips.
As the conversation continued, Ryan felt tension build, and he didn't like it. Not one bit.
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“Monica! Andrew.” A delighted Gloria rushed toward the other angels as they entered the conference room. “Guess what--Christina has accepted the Lord!“
“I know. Tess told us.” Monica’s eyes shone, and Andrew beamed.
Gloria smiled broadly. “She’s been growing in her new faith. She’s reading her Bible every day now, and she and I have been praying together for Richard and Ryan.”
She leaned against the wall and paused to look around. Men and women wearing business suits--reporters and politicians--poured into the conference room and took seats in the rows of chairs facing the podium. Four men set up a pair of cameras and stood them at opposite sides of the room. Sunlight flooded the conference room through a window behind the podium. The guests spoke to one another in low voices. “These people are reporters and politicians,” Monica told Gloria, as she gazed at the assembled guests.
Turning back to Monica and Andrew, Gloria wiggled. “And now--tell me about your experiences! I’m dying to know.” She tilted her head as she waited in anticipation.
Monica turned to Andrew. “You go first.”
Frowning, Andrew paused to collect his thoughts, then described his conversations with Richard, including Richard’s resistance toward the gospel. He leaned against the wall as he paused again. “He’s totally atheistic, to the point of being hostile toward God and toward anyone who believes in Him. He spent much of our time together criticizing and belittling Christina’s new faith. I’m afraid he’s going to be a tough nut to crack.”
Folding his arms across his chest, he shook his head. Gloria frowned--she knew all too well what Andrew was talking about.
Monica laid a hand on his upper arm. “That’s why God sent you to him,” she said softly. “Because He knew you would be able to handle Richard.” Andrew nodded, smiling wanly. He knew Monica was right.
“And now, tell me about Ryan.” Andrew scratched his arm. “Have you made any progress with him?”
Monica shook her head. “I’m still getting to know him, but I’m confident he will come to the truth with no difficulty. He’s kindhearted and gentlemanly, and he’s not hardened toward God as Richard is.” She smiled at the thought.
An instant later, she frowned. “I’m more worried about his boss--Antonio Puccini. I’ve tried and tried to understand him--to get a feel for his past, his heart. But something is blocking me out. I can’t reach him.” A chill ran through her, and she shivered. “I’ll be honest with you: Puccini frightened me when I was with him, and I don’t normally get frightened when I’m around humans. But there’s something about Antonio Puccini that gives me the shivers. I don’t know--” She paused, looking from Andrew to Gloria. “There’s something about him. Something evil. And dangerous.”
“There is, Angel Girl.” Tess materialized next to Monica. “What you felt was a demonic spirit.” She clasped her hands in front of her waist, looking simultaneously stern and sad. “Antonio Puccini is the Antichrist!”
“What?” Monica and Andrew shouted in unison. Gloria gaped at Tess, who nodded.
“Tess, are you sure?” Andrew stared at her. “God sent me to Mr. Puccini ten years ago, to try to turn him to faith in the Father.”
“I know.” Tess sighed. “But you didn’t succeed.” Andrew bit his lower lip, as shame welled in his eyes. “Don’t blame yourself, Angel Boy.” Tess patted his arm. “Some people are so hardened that not even an angel can reach them. You learned that lesson, didn’t you, when God sent you to minister to John Wilkes Booth?” Andrew nodded agreement, evidently remembering his failed attempts to get through the man who had assassinated President Abraham Lincoln, over a century before.
“Well, shouldn’t we get Ryan away from that man?” Gloria asked, still stunned.
Tess shook her head. “No, Gloria. Not yet. Where Ryan is now working, is where God wants him for the moment. Ryan will be able to gain access to information where he is--information that’ll make it possible for him to help his sister and Richard.”
Tess looked at Monica. “However, he needs to learn the truth--and soon. He needs to know what’s happened and what’s going to happen. And he needs to know who his boss is. It’ll be your job, Miss Wings, to inform him, and you have only a few weeks to do so.” Monica nodded her acquiescence, as she shifted her weight from one leg to the other.
“Just a few weeks?” Gloria furrowed her eyebrows, puzzled. “But why?” She raised her hand to lean it against the wall and tilted her head.
Andrew looked sad. “Because of the times this planet is now entering. Very dangerous, perilous times, both spiritually and in the flesh. In a few weeks, Gloria, Israel and Puccini will sign a seven-year covenant that will guarantee Israel’s safety and allow Israel to rebuild her temple. When that happens, the period foretold in the Bible--the day of the Lord, the time of Jacob’s trouble--will begin.” He folded his arms.
“The Tribulation?” Gloria frowned. Tess nodded, as she reached up to scratch her neck.
“It is the period of the Father’s judgment our Lord told his disciples about--the period just before the Lord Jesus returns to earth. It'll be so bad that unless He shortened it, no one would survive.” Tess shook her head. “Worse than that, the whole world will soon be in the grip of a Satanic delusion. The world will worship Puccini as God, and Israel will be deluded into thinking that Puccini is their Messiah. Later on during the Tribulation, Puccini and the False Prophet will force everyone to wear a mark.”
“The Mark of the Beast,” Monica said softly; Tess nodded. “Puccini will be indwelt by Satan, and will demand worship.” The Irish-tongued angel shook her head, as deep sadness welled up in her eyes.
“That’s right.” Tess pursed her lips. “The majority of the people will accept the mark--a computer implant--and when they do, they will give up all hope of Heaven. A minority of the people, though, will accept the true God, and most of them will die as martyrs.”
“Who is the False Prophet?” Gloria pushed her glasses up her nose as she spoke.
“The Israeli foreign minister, Elijah Dayan.”
Gloria frowned. "Why the foreign minister and not the prime minister?"
Andrew made a face. "Sometimes, Gloria, the real power comes not from the person in front, as Barak is, but someone in the background. Like Dayan. He, more than Barak, controls what takes place in Israel."
Tess nodded agreement. "He's in the background now, but he's going to be very much in the forefront before long. With Puccini's help. And so will the leader of the new world religion."
"Who's that?" Gloria cocked her head quizzically.
"The new pope." Tess paused. “Listen to me, all three of you. Whether Ryan accepts the Lord or worships Puccini will depend on whether we succeed in our assignments now. It won’t take more than a few weeks for the great delusion to spread worldwide, you know.” She paused. "And Puccini, himself, will end up taking on so much of the duties of the Italian government that he'll make the prime minister essentially useless. He wants absolute power, not only of Italy and the European Union, but of the world."
“What about the Dalys?” Gloria shivered.
“That’s why the Father has sent us to them,” Andrew told her. “We can’t force them to accept the truth, but we can make it clear to them. Christina has already accepted the Lord, but Richard and Ryan have yet to.”
“That’s right.” Tess nodded. “And that’s where you two come in. It’ll be Monica’s job to help Ryan, and it’ll be your job, Angel Boy, to help Richard. As you said, he’s a tough nut to crack, but the Father has had vast experience in cracking nuts.” She paused, frowning. “Unless you succeed, Richard may well succeed in driving his wife away from her newfound faith. We must not allow that to happen.” She pursed her lips in evident displeasure at the prospect.
“What about Christina?” Gloria asked.
“Your job is the same as it’s been,” Tess told her. “Stay with her, pray with her, encourage her. I’ll be on hand to serve as backup if I’m needed.” Gloria acquiesced.
Monica and Andrew looked at each other and nodded. “I will do my best,” Monica said.
“And so will I,” Andrew added.
Tess nodded. “That is all you can do. The Father is sending you all the resources you’ll need to be successful.”
At that moment, Antonio Puccini entered the conference room, followed by his prime minister and Elijah Dayan. The reporters, cameramen, and politicians rose to their feet and applauded them. Silently, Richard, Christina, and Ryan entered the room, standing next to the now-invisible angels against the back wall.
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Antonio Puccini’s shoes thudded on the carpet as he approached the podium. Behind him, Dayan leaned against the wall, clasping his hands in front of his waist; the prime minister stood next to him, exchanging glances with Dayan. Puccini placed his hands on the sides and leaned toward the microphone.
“Ladies and gentleman,” he began, his mind furiously tumbling over the plans he’d made for this speech over the past few days. “I am aware it has not been a full week since the most tragic phenomenon to ever befall planet Earth took place.” So far, so good.
Puccini wanted to make eye contact with every member of the press and anyone else there, but he realized that he wanted to influence a whole world, not just a roomful of influential people. So instead, he looked from video camera to video camera, looking at each as if it was the eyes of his audience.
“Scientists from all over the world have come together to search for an explanation to the disappearances that...” Puccini paused, then continued. “…devastated so many...” Puccini acted for a moment as if his voice broke, and quickly picked up again. “As I stated in my press conference a few days ago, a reasonable theory has surfaced amongst them. You are all certainly familiar with it by now. Many believe that these disappearances were a result of radiation, built up from decades of nuclear weapons testing.”
Puccini leaned heavily against the podium. He rested his fingers on its smooth, polished surface. It was all he could do to keep up his facade of sadness when his plans were going so well. He shifted his focus toward one of the cameras and looked directly into the lens. “I, myself, concur with this theory. In fact, I have been worrying about something like this happening, for some time. Although I never predicted something this...tragic...I have believed, for quite a while, that the radiation building up in the atmosphere would be disastrous.”
Puccini looked around, scanning the audience, ready to move on with the speech. “This tragedy has crippled some of the most powerful nations on earth--the United States included--by taking away their leaders. As tragic as this is, I believe it is a golden opportunity for the world to truly unite. Every country is looking for leadership; every country is in a great deal of pain.”
For a long moment, he stood quietly, pondering what next to say. Silence filled the conference room--no one spoke or even fidgeted. When he spoke once more, his voice was reassuring. “I want you to know that, as president of the European Union, I will do whatever I can to help every nation who has been devastated by this catastrophe. All I ask, in return, is that you work with me. This is not a time for a division or politics--this is a time to work together! To unite, to become one. Then we can have peace. We can prosper.
“We already have a world court, known as the International Criminal Court, which assumed power on July 1 of this year. With the help of this court, we will be able to bring war criminals--people who commit crimes against humanity--to justice. Now is the time to form a world government! I assure you that only in this way can we see to it that the nuclear testing can finally be abolished. Only by eliminating the threat of nuclear war can we also eliminate the threat of more catastrophes like the one we have just suffered.”
He paused again. “In a few days, I will have a conference with leaders from all over the world, to finalize plans to institute this new government. When we have done so, I will inform you of what is going to happen, and how it will affect you.”
He paused once more. “It is also a time of unity--not just of nations and peoples, but of religions, too. And if ever there were a time for religious unity, this is the time. My good friend, Elijah Dayan--” He paused to turn toward the Israeli foreign minister. “--is, even now, working with the new pope and the leaders of the other religions to bring about a new religion that will benefit everyone. He and the pope will announce the results as soon as he can.” Dayan smiled and nodded toward the cameras. All the while, Puccini ignored the prime minister. He didn't so much as glance at the man or make any comment about him.
Antonio gazed at the assembled reporters and politicians. "Now--are there any questions?"
As the first volley of questions began, Puccini repressed a smirk. Now, he thought, my plans will come to fruition! He glanced back at Dayan, as the last words of his speech echoed in his mind. I'm glad I don't have to deal with the pope's predecessor, John Paul II--he would never have gone with our religious plans! He was too conservative. To fixated on worshipping the so-called God of the Bible. He fought back a snarl as he pointed his index finger at one of the reporters.
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Tess led the way out of the conference room. Setting her jaw, she spoke grimly. “Fasten your seat belts, angel babies. The world is about to change, and the ride is going to be turbulent.” She crossed her arms as she spoke.
Andrew shook his head. “We’ve got our work cut out for us.” He bit his lower lip, a troubled expression in his eyes.
“Yes,” Tess agreed. “And only a short time to do it!” Next to her, Monica shivered, and Gloria exchanged troubled looks with the other three. All four angels gazed toward the ceiling to pray. Silently, Monica prayed that God would thwart any efforts on Puccini’s part to find out the purpose and object of her assignment.
END OF CHAPTER 8