The Firstborn (20 page)
“That’s not true.”
“Or is it that you can’t admit that you don’t know what you’re doing?”
Devin glared.
John squared up to Devin, looking him in the eye. “It’s called hubris. Arrogance. The belief that you can control the future.”
Devin held for a moment, staring into the eyes of a rash upstart, brimming with bravado but wanting in brains. But John had a point—he didn’t have a plan. He struggled to keep his face calm—to not reveal any of the doubt that surged through him.
John put a hand on Devin’s shoulder. “You need to know what’s coming—or you’re going to miss something big.”
He felt himself slip—revealing some portion of his concern.
John’s face became serious. “You know what you need to do.”
Devin nodded.
Slowly he removed his jacket and loosened his tie, laying both gently across the bed. He unfastened the top two buttons of his shirt and undid his cuff links, setting them gently on the lapels of his resting jacket. The sleeves folded back, held in place by their starchy crispness.
Hannah and John were watching him from the corner of the room.
He lowered, as always, to his knees, hand steadying himself against the carpet—soft to the touch. Back straight, hands clasped, head bowed, eyes closed. Just like his grandmother had taught him. He took in air and held it, releasing it slowly—then let his mind begin to work.
Devin breathed in. Breathed out.
He felt the faith of a man in a foxhole—not a piety fueled by boredom or guilt, but the believing heart of a man staring death in the eye. He muttered his prayer—
“Our Father, who art in heaven, hallowed be thy name. Thy kingdom come, thy will be done, on earth as it is in heaven. Give us this day our daily bread, and forgive us our trespasses as we forgive those who trespass against us. Lead us not unto temptation, but deliver us from evil. For thine is the kingdom and the power and the glory—forever and ever. Amen.”
He looked up.
He waited.
Silence.
“Anything?” John asked.
Devin held a moment longer. “No,” he said, shaking his head.
He clenched his fists. This was not the way it happened. His shoulders heaved as he began to seethe. His teeth began to grind.
“Why?” he demanded prayerfully under his breath. “Why won’t You show me what I need to see?”
Nothing.
His head drooped. It was no use if he was on his own.
He stood, moving to the bed, reaching for his cuff links.
“What is it?” Hannah asked.
“I prayed for foresight—I received none.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means try again,” John interjected roughly.
“No,” Devin said, fighting with his cuff, “it means that God didn’t give me a vision—and that means that this is not what God means for me to do.”
“So you’re just going to quit?” John said, exasperated.
“It’s too late.”
“What?” John said, visibly angry, as he stepped forward.
Devin stood in the middle of the room, trying to fasten a cuff link with one hand. “It’s over. Get out of San Antonio—both of you. Who knows how many people are going to die before this is all finished.”
“Are you crazy?” John asked, voice raising.
“No,” Devin replied, adjusting his cuff, “I’m being realistic. The Firstborn exist to do what God calls them to. God’s not calling me—”
“So you’re just going to go home?”
“There are other things to do,” Devin said, reaching for the other cuff link. “Maybe you’ll realize that when you finally grow up.”
John Temple stepped forward, grabbing Devin by the collar. “Knock it off! Your mentor is missing. The man who killed Hannah’s grandfather—
her grandfather
—is out there, and he’s planning to kill people. Lots of them. And you want to give up?”
Devin stared back, cold.
“Don’t touch me.”
John shook Devin’s collar with his fists. “You cold, heartless, unfeeling…”
Devin grabbed a wrist and made a sharp movement, and the bedside lamp smashed into the floor, throwing mangled shadows across the walls. John’s face slammed into the bedsheets. Devin held him there.
“Stop it!” Hannah shrieked. “Stop it! You’re hurting him!”
Devin held for a moment as he thought.
There he stood, restraining an unarmed man, forcing him down, as if he were some kind of schoolyard bully. It wasn’t who he was.
He let go.
John stood and backed away, rubbing his wrist.
Devin stood in the middle of the room as the other two stared back, the lamp casting eerie shadows across the walls as it rocked back and forth on the floor.
Everything was wrong—
everything
.
He said nothing—simply trying to find a way to excuse himself and his actions before leaving.
Nothing came to mind.
Hannah stepped forward. “Try again,” she pleaded. “If Blake’s out there, we have to find him.” Her young face softened. “I just want this all to be over so I can
go home
.”
Devin looked at his shoes, like a four-year-old caught running in the house. He stood for a moment, looking the girl over. A girl—that was all she was really—a college dropout trying to duck out of her life, hiding from the challenges of the future. She had no idea who she was or where she was going—or even why for that matter. A soccer mom waiting to happen, hoping that suburbia would hide her from whatever difficulty lay in her path.
He could feel her futures churning in his stomach—two lives that could still be. On the one hand was love and happiness, prosperity in a simple and unconcerned life. On the other hand Devin felt her slipping into his world—
duty, anguish, solitude
.
She was scared of everything—and it was written all over her face. She had every reason to be. His life wasn’t one of glamour or peace or even happiness. He was one of the Firstborn—if they couldn’t bring this to an end now, then her future was lost.
He nodded, then turned his back.
Devin removed the cuff link again and rolled up his sleeve, taking his place, kneeling on the floor once again.
Slowly. Deliberately. Just the way his grandmother had taught him. He breathed in.
He breathed out.
The Lord’s Prayer—the words calming his soul as he muttered them beneath his breath. Then—
Nothing.
Silence.
The ambient creaking of an empty hotel room.
“
Why?
” he demanded quietly, fists tightening into balls, knuckles growing rosy.
Hannah’s future twisted in his gut—
Alone. Broken.
He needed to find Morris. He needed to find Blake. And he needed to find them now, before whatever hope of a future this girl had was lost forever. But the God of the universe—creator of all things—merciful and just—was ignoring him. He was being forgotten, misplaced—disregarded.
Sweat began to form on his brow as his eyes clenched shut.
A sticky bead began to slide down his face—moving across his forehead and down his eyebrow. The droplet stayed.
Then he felt something—not a vision or revelation from God.
A fingertip brushed across his forehead, wiping away the layer of sweat that clung to him. Devin slowly opened his eyes—focusing on the soft shape of—
Hannah.
She knelt down in front of him, touching his face.
“I—” he began, trying to explain that this wasn’t necessary—everything was under control.
She hushed him gently, placing a finger to her lips, then took his hands. “I don’t want this either, but this needs to be done.” She began, voice soft and low, “Our Father, who art in heaven…”
Devin took a breath and joined her, “Hallowed be thy name. Thy kingdom come, thy will be done, on earth as it is in heaven.”
The floor shifted, another presence arriving, kneeling down next to both of them, placing a hand on their respective shoulders—his voice joining as they prayed in tandem.
John—
“Give us this day our daily bread and forgive us our trespasses as we forgive those who trespass against us.”
Devin felt the rigidity of his body relax and his heart go still—
“And lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil. For thine is the kingdom…”
His shoulders lifted—
“And the power…”
His chest felt like it was being torn apart—
“And the glory forever and ever.”
Silence.
Quiet and long.
Then he felt it—like his body had been plunged to the ocean floor. The outside world was gone.
Light…
Blinding—
Furious—
Luminous—
…light.
It was vivid—as if he were there—he saw it all…
The past…
Blake, sitting at a workbench, looking over a set of photographs—a mosque—taken from overhead.
He looked over the glossy image, felt-tipped maker in hand, squeaking as he drew pictures on the surface of the photograph. A black cordless phone tucked under his head, pressed to his ear.
“I’m looking at the images of the Islamic Center—it can be done.”
A pause.
“There’s only one way…it’s the only way.”
Another pause.
“Everyone will die.”
The present…
Blake in the truck—right now—face covered in sweat, driving, fleeing San Antonio. On the phone—“I’m leaving San Antonio right now. Everything is still going to go ahead as planned.”
The future…
Tomorrow.
2:35 p.m.
The Islamic Center. Washington DC.
A father in white robes, his son dressed similarly. Walking through the arches—through the pillars, across the opulent carpets, beneath the vaulted ceilings that look like green marble, into the mosque itself.
Barefooted the father and son kneel—pressing their foreheads to the floor with dozens of others—
A blinding blast. A deafening sound. A moment’s destruction. A generation’s suffering.
Chaos.
Screaming.
Bloody survivors—
A little boy—lying on his face, dead—arm missing.
Sobbing family.
The evening news:
“The world’s Islamic community has shown its outrage—”
“Fourteen suicide bombings in Israel today—”
“Iran has declared its outrage against the United States for allowing this action against such an internationally important location and has threatened retaliation—”
“Hundreds now dead…”
Devin’s eyes opened.
“Amen,” John said as the three of them looked up at one another.
It was unlike anything Devin had ever seen, heard, or felt before. More powerful, more vivid, more complete than any other revelation that had ever been given. And he could tell from the look in their eyes that Hannah and John had felt it too.
Devin stood.
“Washington DC?” John asked candidly.
He nodded.
“I’m coming with you.”
Hannah stood also, voice unsure. “I’ll come too.”
Devin looked them over. He didn’t like it—but something was different.
He nodded. “Washington DC.”
T
HE AIRPORT SOUNDED LIKE
the whitewater rapids of a mixing river, the hollow squawking of the PA system announcing the current threat level through the noisy discord.