He smiled. "I don't doubt it."

I would have taken the time to come up with some parting shot, but Rebeckah was already to the door. If I didn't hurry to catch up, I'd lose her. I scrambled out of my seat.

"Hey, McMannus!" I heard from the table. Glancing over my shoulder, I saw the hacker at the end of the table give me the "thumbs-up." I returned a smile and a wave.

"A contact of mine has seen Daniel," Rebeckah informed me when I caught up with her in the stairwell. "Apparently, some of your fellow officers helped him make a break for it when the power blew in New Jersey."

I let out a breath I didn't even know I was holding. "Where is he?"

"My contact saw him in the underground heading into Manhattan. I have a feeling he's looking for you." She looked at me sideways, judging my reaction. My mind was already meeting with Daniel. I wondered what he looked like after all this time, what I would say to him, and how I could explain why I never answered any of his letters.

Rebeckah's firm voice cut through my jumbled thoughts. "You shouldn't even risk it, Dee. It's going to be quite a trick to get ahold of him without alerting the syscops."

"You know where he is?"

"Not exactly, no," Rebeckah said patiently. "Just that he's on the move and headed into Manhattan. It's possible you could intercept him before he gets too far. But, it's dangerous right now – "

I cut her. off with, "I have to try."

Rebeckah nodded grimly. "Somehow I knew you'd say that."

We stopped in front of one of the apartment doors. She took a key card out of one of her belt pouches and swiped it through the lock. The door popped open. "There's armor in there. I had to guess at your size." A slight blush rose on her cheeks, but she cleared her throat, and added, "If we get caught trying to contact Daniel, I don't want you to get busted for impersonating a priest."

"Thanks, Rebeckah." I reached out and captured her hand. I gave it a quick squeeze. "I owe you."

"If you think I'm not keeping score, you're mistaken," she said gruffly. "This is barter, not charity."

"Still." I smiled. "Thanks."

I shut the door behind me. The clothes Rebeckah referred to were laid neatly at the foot of a narrow bed. A footlocker, a desk, and several bookshelves were placed squarely along the wails. The interior design evoked a certain je ne sais quoi or perhaps a dorm du college.

I inspected the armor on the bed. Picking up the undershirt, I turned it over in my hands. The fabric was heavy, some kind of blend of super-thin fiber-optic cables and cotton. Its blue-screen blue shimmered in the muted light. The only window was covered in a film of Medusa-glass; the light that eked through had a hazy quality. Heavy-looking curtain material hung on either side of a small window. I got up and pulled it shut, even though I doubted anyone would be passing by, or, if they did, be able to see through the waves of the bomb's sheath.

Shrugging out of Eion's cassock, I let the vestments slip to the floor. I pulled the armor's undershirt over my head. The material was heavy and slick against my skin, like a scuba gear. Though a bit small through the shoulders, the suit stretched to cover my body snugly. The neck of the undershirt came all the way to my chin; the sleeves extended well past my wrists. Rebeckah had made a pretty good guess at my size.

I stepped into the pants and wiggled the tight material over my hips. As I buckled the armored sections onto the leggings, my fingers fell into routine and my mind wandered. Right now Daniel was heading into Manhattan, looking for me. Despite his letters' assurances that he'd forgiven me, my stomach knotted at the thought of facing him again. I sent him to prison. The words spoken in the courtroom maligned his character, and I was part of all of it. Captain Morgan hadn't forgiven me for that betrayal of partner loyalty. Truth be told, I hadn't forgiven myself. It seemed insane to expect that, after everything, Daniel would welcome me with open arms.

Then there was that small problem of Daniel's guilt. He'd killed the Pope. Nothing I'd heard or seen since changed my mind. Daniel's last letter sounded like the ramblings of a madman – with all his talk of "them," and how I shouldn't trust anyone on the LINK.

I hefted the heavily armored jacket onto my shoulders. Connecting the two edges, I ran my fingers along the seam. At my touch, the jacket automatically clicked together, guided by a strong magnet. The instant all the pieces were in place the uniform hummed to life.

Israeli technology was top-of-the-line. The uniform existed as a walking LINK connection, holographic armor, and as a cybernetic exoskeleton to provide physical protection. I ran my fingers along the surface of the armor, impressed with all the bells and whistles.

Only the helmet remained. The Israeli insignia had been scraped off either side and replaced with a crudely stenciled image of a black wing. In indelible marker someone had carefully scripted the word: "vengeance."

Sitting down on the small bed, I put a hand on the pitted surface of the helmet. Michael corrected me when I speculated that his involvement in bringing Letourneau to justice came down to revenge. No, vengeance, he said. Vengeance.

I shook my head. The only thing vengeance had going for it was a healthy dose of righteousness; and, when it came down to mortal affairs, the whole notion seemed like an arrogant shifting of the blame for any bloodshed to a higher authority. Yet, the Malachim fought against oppressive injustice, and Michael, too, in seeking to expose Letourneau, sided with what I could consider goodness. Perhaps "vengeance" was correct in their case.

Despite my rationalization, I shivered as my fingers traced the raised surface of the black wing on the helmet. There was nothing I would kill for. It was my profound lack of Faith that kept me from the kind of commitment to a cause that the Malachim, Michael, and even Daniel had. My experience as a street cop taught me that justice, like truth, mutated and changed. What I'd seen of Michael and his ilk cast doubt on the infallibility of even the divine. That only served to solidify my distrust of absolutes and people who espoused them.

Picking up the helmet, I tossed it from hand to hand. Raphael had me pegged better than I cared to admit. Though I tried to let those with convictions fight in my stead, I found myself again and again in the center of the storm. More than that, I pushed actively against the winds, as if I had the power to turn nature from its course.

Caressing the stencil of the black wing, I put the helmet on. I searched through the lining of the hood for the tiny filament connecting the uniform to the LINK. Finding it, I spit on the tiny rounded pad at the end of the wire and stuck it to the panel in the helmet above the almond-shaped lump in my temple that housed my LINK receiver.

Ones and zeros flashed briefly as the uniform's computer calibrated to match my LINK connection. Once the systems meshed, a window popped up in the right corner of my field of vision. A two-dimensional box scrolled pertinent information, and certain files automatically downloaded in the memory system of my LINK. I still couldn't see through the helmet's armored face shield. Mentally, I toggled the view option. My vision unfurled to a complete 360-degree view. The experience disoriented me, until I focused on one thing. Holding my gloved hand up in front of my face, I tested the holographic defense.

On, I subvocalized. I could hear a faint hum as holographic imagers came on-line. Tiny lights, like pinpricks, broke out on the surface of the gloves. Seconds later, my hand disappeared. Almost. When I wiggled my fingers, I could see the mirroring camouflage struggle to re-form a reflective surface. The imagers lagged a fraction behind the movement, giving the illusion a rippling effect. When I moved slowly and precisely enough, I was virtually invisible.