The 731 Legacy (28 page)

The anger surged inside her as she massaged her temples. There was so much hate and rage building within her. Nogood person could have such feelings, she thought. And that confirmed the rightness of her decision. She was who she was.

"John," she whispered.

His ashen face matched the white pillow beneath his head. She wished he would open his incredible ocean-blue eyes so she could see them once again. At this point she would even settle for any sign that he recognized her presence and could hear her. But there was no movement, nothing.

"This is all because of me," she said. "All the bad things that have come into your life are because of me." Her voice strained and cracked as she unsuccessfully fought back the tears. Wiping them away Cotten looked at the ceiling and bit her bottom lip trying to compose herself. Finally her eyes traveled to John's face again, a face she had burned in her memory. Every line, every angle, every contour. If somehow she was stricken blind, she could still place her palm on his cheek and know it was him.

Cotten smoothed his hair away from his face and briefly touched her fingertip to his lips. "I am so sorry."

Her tears came again. "You mean more to me than anything in my life. I can't let you die. I won't, no matter what I have to do. I suppose I am glad you can't hear me because I know you would try to stop me. I only hope that you will be able to forgive me."

She paused, tilting her head and looking at John, drinking him in. Though she knew she could never have him, she loved this man with every fiber in her body and would do anything to save him.

Anything.

"John, you know who I am. You know my heritage, and that my father promised me to God in exchange for his redemption. I am the only blood enemy of the epitome of evil on Earth, and though they can't kill me because I am Furmiel's daughter—one of their own—they will destroy me by destroying you. I have caused them too many problems over the years. They want to be rid of my interference permanently. I am tired, and I can't bear what is happening to you."

Cotten rested her face in her hands for a moment before looking back at him. "I can end this. Just as my father was given forgiveness and mortality for his repentance, I will be rewarded for my repentance with your life. All I have to do is give myself up to my legacy, to the Darkness. No matter how much I strive to do what is good and right, in the end, I am Nephilim and nothing can change that. I have been given a choice. If I will return to my Nephilim heritage, then your life will be spared. It is a small price to pay. And when you get well, maybe then you will have peace, and maybe I will, too. I can't watch you die when I know I can stop it. I have tried to live up to my end of my father's bargain, but I've failed. I have brought nothing but pain and misery to those I care about the

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most. I can't do it anymore. Your life is too precious. You are the goodness in this world that I could never be."

Cotten bent over the rail and kissed his cheek. "I guess you might say I'm going home where I belong."

The door opened and pale light from the hall flowed in. A nurse entered wearing a white nun's habit, a mask, and gloves. She touched Cotten's shoulder and then checked John's vitals.

Cotten looked up at her with an expression that begged any news.

The nurse shook her head. "Pray," she said.

"Sister, I don't think God will listen tome."

"He listens to everyone."

Cotten looked back at John and touched her fingertips to his cheek.

"Perhaps you should also ask his patron saint to intercede for him with God."

"I don't know who his patron saint is. I didn't even know he had one."

"Cardinal Tyler's patron is Saint John of the Cross," the nurse whispered as she pulled the door closed behind her.

Turning back to John, Cotten wondered if she was beyond praying at this point. Why would God listen to her prayers? She was about to turn her back on Him forever.

She sat at his bedside for over an hour, coming to terms with what she was about to do. She had only one hope, and needed to talk to Ted tonight. Tomorrow might be too late.

As she rose to leave, a glint of reflected light caught Cotten's attention. Looking closer she saw links of a gold chain that disappeared beneath the neck of his gown. Cotten lifted the chain. The hospital staff had allowed John to continue wearing his gold cross. Being careful not to disturb the tubes and wires from the monitoring devices, she unhooked the clasp, removed the chain and cross, and slipped them into her pocket.

Cotten gave John a last look before leaving. As she went down in the elevator she kept her hand in her pocket palming his crucifix. Not until she was outside did she release it so she could make a call on her cell.

"Cotten, how's John?" Ted asked when he answered.

"No change," she said, working at holding back the tears.

"I'm really sorry."

"Ted, please don't ask any questions. I now know what I have to do to save John, and I need your help. I don't know how this will turn out for me, and that doesn't really matter. Please understand that. I'm going to tell you my plan and you have to promise to follow it through. No matter what I say or do later, you must do what I tell you now."

She fought to keep herself composed. What would she be like once she surrendered to the Darkness? Would she become evil? She had to make preparations now before that happened, and she had to be sure she could count on Ted. There was no one else. Taking a deep breath, she said, "Arrange for me

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to get clearance through the

State Department to travel to North Korea. Just say that the Communist leader has agreed to an exclusive SNN interview."

"I'll start the paperwork immediately." He sounded skeptical but didn't hesitate. "Anything else?" "Yes, one more thing."

LAND OF LIES

The Air Koryo flight from Beijing approached Sunan International Airport from the north. Cotten watched the farmland and brown hills glide beneath as late afternoon turned to evening across the Democratic People's Republic of Korea. Only a third of the 198 seats in the Russian-built Ilyushin IL-62 were filled, and she occupied her own row. Whether it was because of the low number of passengers or it was pre-arranged so she would not have contact with the other passengers, she didn't know.

Cotten was dead tired. She had only slept in small segments on the fourteen-hour flight from New York to Beijing, tormented by John's deteriorating condition and the decision she made that would save him. The overnight stay at the Sino Swiss Airport Hotel was just as restless, for all the same reasons. Even with a high-level-approved visitor's visa, she was still made to sit in an isolated waiting room for most of the day in Beijing's Capital International Airport before the Korean flight took off for the five-hundred-mile trip to Pyongyang, an equally fatiguing experience. She dreaded seeing herself in a mirror, fearing she would resemble a character from a Tim Burton movie.

Cotten watched the modest terminal building roll into view, a three story, glass-front structure with a large portrait of the Communist Party General Secretary perched on top. Two bright red signs displaying the city name in Korean and English formed bookends on each side of the portrait. Once the jet had taxied to a stop, she prepared to deplane. Out her window she saw a dozen armed Korean soldiers forming a corridor between the plane and the building, keeping the passengers from straying. Cotten noticed a couple of military vehicles parked nearby. Mounted on the back of each were large caliber machine guns.

She was the last to disembark, and as she stepped off the stairway onto the tarmac, a man in a dark-green military uniform standing nearby said in a heavily accented voice, "This way please." He gestured toward a black Mercedes limousine parked a dozen yards away. Cotten had read in the State Department briefing papers supplied to SNN that North Korea had the largest fleet of stateowned Mercedes limos in the world. Stiff DPRK flags were mounted on both sides of the limo's front grill. A city police car, its emergency lights flashing, waited in front of the limo, another in the rear.

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The officer held the door open for Cotten, and she slipped into the back seat. He joined her, taking the opposite, backward-facing seat. He was short and thin, perhaps only five feet five. His close-trimmed hair was dark, and he wore rimless glasses on a round face. He sat straight with his knees together and his arms crossed, gazing intently at Cotten. He had to be wondering why she was getting the star treatment in a country with only one star. There was no attempt at introductions or conversation.

A moment later, Cotten heard a thump as someone placed her bag into the trunk and closed the lid. Then the sirens wailed and the three-vehicle caravan accelerated off the concrete through a security checkpoint and onto the main highway for the fifteen-mile trip south into Pyongyang.

The traffic was almost non-existent. An occasional commercial or military vehicle passed in the other direction along the four-lane motorway. As the Mercedes entered the city, the traffic increased, but only slightly. In any other major city, Cotten thought, it would be considered extremely light. She was told in advance what to expect, yet it still amazed her. In what the State Department documents called the Land of Lies, Pyongyang was the City of Ghosts.

With few cars, buses, and taxis, Cotten thought the city was almost beautiful in an eerie sort of way. The limo passed tree-lined boulevards and sprawling public squares built around fountains and statues. Lovely but deserted parks, walkways, and plazas lined the Taedong River as it flowed through the center of the city. The buildings were dark, and the stores all appeared closed. She even caught a glimpse of the USSPueblo and the Pitcairn moored bow to stern near the city's center. The limo drove past the 150,000-seat stadium constructed in a failed bid to capture a portion of the 1988 Olympics. Cotten watched the huge bowl-shape structure drift by, a gloomy monument as empty as the soul of this sad nation.

They pulled up to the front of the pyramid-shaped Sungyong Hotel, an impressive tower extending 106 stories, one story taller than the tallest building in South Korea.

Led by her military escort, Cotten exited the Mercedes and entered the hotel's grand atrium. Rather than approaching the front desk, he halted her in the middle of the athletic-field-sized lobby.

"You are not allowed to leave the hotel without official approval and a government chaperone," he said. "You are not to take any photographs. Do not speak to anyone but an official from the DPRK. Remember that you are from an aggressor nation and do not have the same privileges as our visiting friends from the former Soviet nations. Is that understood?"

"Yes."

"Do not test our hospitality."

Cotten watched as the limo driver carried her bag to a nearby bank of elevators.

The officer motioned, and the three entered the lift.

"How many rooms does the hotel have?" Cotten asked.

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"Three thousand and one," the officer said after much hesitation as if he were revealing a state secret.

"But isn't it true that you only allow one thousand visitors into your country a year? What are the extra rooms for?"

His face reddened. With a huff, he said, "That is a matter of national security."

"Of course." Cotten shifted her gaze up to the floor indicator. They stopped on the fiftieth floor and exited.

The officer led her down a corridor to her room. He inserted a key—there were no magnetic cards used here. She stepped into a modestly furnished room with a single bed, dresser, and desk. A small TV sat on a corner stand. Thick black-out curtains covered the window. A large painting of the General Secretary poised atop a snow-clad mountain peak carrying the DPRK flag hung over the bed. He appeared to be leading a great army into battle.

Cotten turned to thank her escort just as the door clicked closed. The officer and driver were gone.

She wandered to the window and pulled open the drapes. The curtain rod slumped at one end, threatening to fall. What she saw was a sprinkling of street and traffic lights, a handful of vehicles, and a spotting of illumination from the windows of distant buildings. Night had enveloped Pyongyang like a cloak.

If she was about to make the journey into the Darkness, she had come to the right place.

SUPERNOVA

After showering, Cotten slipped into bed and immediately fell asleep—the long trip finally catching up with her. Her dreams were filled with images of her father pulling the trigger of the gun he held to his head, her mother's face scored with lines of depression, and the spirit of her twin sister.

Suddenly, Cotten sat up wide awake. No light came through the window, the city slept in darkness. Feeling a presence in the room, she started to pull back the cover and search for the light switch.

"Stay," a voice said.

"Who's there?" she asked.

The voice had come from the direction of the window. The drapes were open but she saw nothing between her and the faint starlight beyond the glass.

"Daughter of Furmiel, I am pleased that you have come home to be with your family."

"I'm here to save the life of my friend. Being here has nothing to do with you." Her voice was shaky.

"You will soon come to understand that this is where you truly belong."

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"Tell me your name so I know what to call you."

"I have many names."

Cotten pulled the covers to her shoulders. "Then give me one."

"Light bearer."

"I don't see a great deal of light here tonight."

Suddenly the room exploded with white light—a supernova flash that momentarily blinded her. She was certain that the heat had singed her hair. As the light diminished, she caught a glimpse of a form standing beside the window.

The image faded back to darkness. But she had seen enough to know it was her immortal enemy, the Son of the Dawn. The Beast. Lucifer. Satan.

The ice-cold hand of trepidation slithered down her spine.

"Do you need more light?" the voice asked.