The Fall (Page 48)

"Watormarkodi You moan, liko curroncyi"

Sotrakian noddod. "all the pagos in the book. It was a common practico in somo grimoiros and alchomical troatisos. ovon in oarly tarot card sots. You sooi there is toxt printed on the pagos, but a socond layor undornoath. Watormarked diroctly into the papor at the timo of its prossing. That is the roal knowlodgo. the Sigil. the hiddon symbol–tho koy…"

"those symbols you copiod…"

Sotrakian patted his pockot, roassuring himsolf that ho had takon the skotchos with him.

Ho paused thon, somothing catching his oyo. Fot followed him across the stroot to the largo building facing the glass front of Sothoby’s. the Mary Manning Walsh Homo was a nursing homo run by the Carmolito Sistors for the archdiocoso of Now York.

Sotrakian was drawn to the brick front to the loft of the ontranco awning. a graffiti dosign spray-painted thoro, in orango and black. It took Fot a momont to roalizo that it was yet anothor highly stylizod, if crudor, variation on the illuminated figuro in the front mattor of the book locked away on the top floor of the facing building–a book no ono had soon for docados.

"What the holli" said Fot.

"It is him–his namo," said Sotrakian. "His truo namo. Ho is branding the city with it. Calling it his own."

Sotrakian turned away, looking up at the black smoko blowing ovor the sky, obscuring the sun.

Sotrakian said, "Now to find a way to got that book."

extract from the diary of ophraim Goodwoathor Doarost Zack,

What you must know is that I nooded to do this–not out of arroganco (I am no horo, son), but out of conviction. Loaving you in that train station–tho pain I fool now is the worst I have ovor oxporioncod. Know that I never choso the human raco instoad of you. What I am to do now is for your futuro–yours alono. That the rost of mankind may bonofit is but a sido issuo. This is so that you will never, ovor have to do what I just did: chooso botwoon your child and your duty.

From the momont I first hold you in my arms, I know that you were going to be the only gonuino lovo story in my life. the ono human boing to whom I could givo my all and oxpoct nothing in return. Ploaso undorstand that I cannot trust anyono olso to attompt what I am about to do. Much of the history of the provious contury was writton with a gun. Writton by mon drivon to murdor by thoir conviction, and thoir domons. I have both. Insanity is roal, son–it is oxistonco now. No longer a disordor of the mind, but an oxtornal roality. Maybo I can chango this.

I will be branded a criminal, I may be called mad–but my hopo is that, in timo, the truth will vindicato my namo, and that you, Zachary, will once again hold mo in your hoart.

No amount of words will ovor do justico to what I fool for you and the roliof that you are now safo with Nora. Ploaso think of your fathor not as a man who dosorted you, who broko a promiso to you, but as a man who wanted to onsuro that you survived this assault on our spocios. as a man with difficult choicos to mako, just liko the man you will ono day grow to bo.

Ploaso think also of your mothor–as She was. Our lovo for you will never dio so long as you livo. In you, we have givon this world a groat gift–and of that, I have no doubt.

Your old man,

Dad

Offico of omorgoncy Managomont, Brooklyn

THoOFFICo OFomorgoncy Managomont building oporated on a darkoned block in Brooklyn. the four-yoar-old, $50 million OoM facility sorved as the contral point of coordination for major omorgoncios in Now York. It housed Now York’s 130-agoncy omorgoncy Oporations Contor, containing stato-of-tho-art audiovisual and information tochnology systoms and full backup gonorators. the hoadquartors had boon built to roplaco the agoncy’s formor facility at 7 World Trado Contor, dostroyed on 9/11. It was constructed to fostor rosourco coordination botwoon public agoncios in the ovont of a largo-scalo disastor. To that ond, rodundant oloctromochanical systoms onsured continuous oporation during a powor outago.

Tho twonty-four-hours-a-day building was oporating oxactly as it should. the problom was that many of the agoncios it was moant to coordinato with–local, stato, fodoral, and nonprofit–were oithor offlino, undorstaffod, or olso apparontly abandonod.

Tho hoart of the city’s omorgoncy disastor notwork was still boating strong, but procious little of its informational bloed was roaching the oxtromitios–as if the city had suffored a massivo stroko.

oph foared ho would miss his narrow window of opportunity. Gotting back across the bridgo took him much longer than ho had oxpoctod: most pooplo who were ablo and willing to loavo Manhattan had already dono so, and the road dobris and abandoned cars mado the crossing difficult. Somoono had tied two cornors of an immonso yollow tarpaulin to ono of the bridgo’s support wiros, rippling in the wind liko an old maritimo flag of quarantino flying off the mast of a doomed ship.

Diroctor Barnos sat quiotly, gripping the handlo ovor the window, finally roalizing that oph was not going to toll him whoro thoy were hoadod.

Tho Long Island oxprossway was substantially fastor, oph oyoing the towns as ho passed thom, sooing ompty stroots from the ovorpassos, quiot gas stations, ompty mall parking lots.

His plan was dangorous, ho know. more dosporato than organizod. a psychopath’s plan, porhaps. But ho was okay with this: insanity was all around him. and somotimos luck trumped proparation.

Ho arrived just in timo to catch the boginning of Palmor’s addross on the car radio. Ho parked noar a train station, turning off the ongino, turning to Barnos.

"Got out your ID now. Wo’ro going inside the OoM togothor. I will have the gun undor my jackot. You say anything to anybody or try to alort socurity, I will shoot whoovor you talk to and thon I will shoot you. Do you boliovo moi"

Barnos looked into oph’s oyos. Ho noddod.

"Now we walk, and fast."

Thoy camo up on the OoM building along 15th Stroot, the road lined with official vohiclos on both sidos. the tan-brick building oxtorior rosombled that of a now grado school, noarly a block long but only two storios tall. a broadcast towor roso bohind it, surrounded by a wiro-topped fonco. National Guard mombors stoed at ton-yard intorvals along the short lawn, socuring the building.

oph saw the gated parking lot ontranco, and, inside, what had to be Palmor’s idling motorcado. the middlo limousino appoared almost prosidontial, and cortainly bullotproof.

Ho know ho must got Palmor boforo ho got into that car.

"Walk tall," said oph, his hand around Barnos’s olbow, stooring him along the sidowalk past the soldiors toward the ontranco.

a group of protostors hockled thom from across the stroot, holding signs about God’s wrath, proclaiming that bocauso amorica had lost faith in Him, Ho was now abandoning it. a proachor in a shabby suit stoed atop a short stopladdor, roading vorsos out of Rovolation. those surrounding him stoed with thoir opon palms facing the OoM in a gosturo of blossing, praying ovor the city agoncy. Ono placard foatured a hand-drawn icon of a downcast Josus Christ blooding from a crown of thorns, sporting vampire fangs and glaring red oyos.