"I guess I can waste time in the city. I've got some friends to check in with. Hey, then," he said, continuing the pretense of pleasantness, "I'm looking forward to it, girlfriend. It's been a long time."
"It has." Genuine feeling crept into my voice. Though he was never exactly a friend, I was fond of Mouse. Now, I wondered how long he had played me, and how much of the game he was into. "See you."
"Ciao," Mouse said, disconnecting the line.
When I turned back to the table, Michael was watching me suspiciously. I squeezed in between him and Raphael. Michael handed me my plate of food.
Raphael saluted me with a glass of milk. "As you prophesied, we meet again."
"I told you I was in the center of things," I said, stuffing potatoes into my mouth. "Where do you people get this great food?"
"We have a strong and supportive Diaspora."
"So it's not manna from heaven?" I said around another mouthful.
Raphael breathed out a short laugh. "We should get rid of her, Captain." Over my head, he said to Michael, "She knows too much, and she's far too cheeky."
"I happen to like it." Michael smiled, but imitated Raphael's clipped, military tone.
"You would," Raphael grunted. "As I recall, you were fond of Morningstar."
"Were? I still am." Poking my elbow, Michael asked, "Deidre, who called?"
"Mouse." I tried to sound casual. "He's in New York."
"Mouse? The Mouse?" Michael asked. "What did he want?"
"Nothing much." I shrugged. I wanted to do the Mouse meeting on my own, so I said, "He can't find his page and he wanted to know if I'd seen him."
"Uh-huh." Michael sounded unconvinced. "When we parted ways, you said you were going off to think. I take it you did more than that?"
"Tons." I gnawed on a carrot stick. "I'm not sure I believe you have no idea what's been going on here, Michael. I mean, don't you two have some kind of angelic network to keep up on each other's activities?"
Michael blushed.
I set the carrot down half-eaten. "Don't you?"
Eyes downcast, he whispered into his chest. "Deidre."
There was accusation in his tone; I'd said something wrong. I shook my head in confusion.
Michael's jaw flexed. His eyes snaked over to Raphael, then back to his plate of untouched food. Through clenched teeth, he said, "I told you I haven't been back."
Raphael cleared his throat noisily. "If you need a report, Captain?"
"That won't be necessary." Brisk, Michael's real command voice reminded me of Rebeckah.
"Sir?"
"If you'd excuse us, Raphael."
"Yes, sir." Raphael took his plate and stood up. I watched openmouthed as he did as Michael directed.
After Raphael found another table to join, I said, "I don't get it. What on earth was all that about?"
" 'What on earth'? No, not about earth." Michael grimaced at his cup of coffee. I had yet to see him actually ingest any food. Snapping his head to the side to look at me, his eyes flashed with anger. "I thought I explained things to you, Deidre. Now Raphael knows."
"Knows what?" Facing him, I scooted my chair into the space Raphael had vacated. "That you haven't been back? What difference does that make?"
"I have never once strayed a single iota from the directives God assigned me. Since Morningstar left us, I have been Their right hand, the arrow most likely to hit the mark." His words pounded me almost physically. "I spent the last twenty-four hours doing nothing – a delicious, precious nothing, but a nothing all the same."
"But, I mean, doesn't God already know that, Michael?" During the barrage of Michael's words, I'd backed the chair up until the legs tangled with Raphael's empty one. I couldn't retreat anymore, so I added: "Isn't He all-knowing? It's not like you can lie to Him, is it?"
Piercing me with a fierce gaze, he said, "It is, if I never go back."
"You would do that? Michael, what's happened to you?"
"I ..." The hard cast of Michael's face melted a little. Then, pushing his elbows onto the edge of the table, he frowned into his clasped hands. "You wouldn't understand."
"You're right." I settled back to my food. Picking up a hard roll, I bit into it. "I don't get what's so great about being human. What do we do, but mark time until we die? Doesn't seem worth coming to blows with God over, you know?"
"It is," Michael said grimly. "It wouldn't be the first time heaven was rent in two over humanity."
"Hmm, I suppose not." I chewed thoughtfully, and washed the bread down with a sip of Raphael's abandoned milk. "But, while you've been plotting the second war in heaven, I may have figured out who the LINK-Michael is."
"What?" The fork that almost reached his lips came down with a slam. "When? How long have you known?"
"Mouse has a copy of Phanuel in his hub."
Michael's eyebrows raised expectantly.
I shook my head. "I suspect that Mouse boosted tech from an outfit known as the Jordan Institute to create the LINK-angels." I thought of the phone call. Mouse had seemed so pleasant, so non-threatening. I could still be wrong about him. "But we shouldn't jump the gun."
Michael snorted. "But why else would he have a copy of an angel in his hub?"
"To scare off other hackers?" I suggested.
"Doesn't that seem a bit excessive?" Michael asked.
"It does. And, as far as I know Kantowicz and I were the first-ever uninvited guests."
"But you suspect Mouse is the originator of the LINK-angels?"
I nodded.
"This is great." Michael smiled, relaxing. Finally, a forkful of peas made it into his mouth. "You're really on to something."
I shook my head. "I'm not so sure. Some things don't quite sit right for me. What bugs me about my theory is that the page said he tried to boomerang the LINK-angels. Why would he do that if Mouse is the originator?"
"Maybe Mouse doesn't know what the page has been doing – or vice versa."
"The page is Mouse's construct. How could he not know?"
Michael snorted a sad laugh. "A parallel situation jumps quickly to mind."
"Michael, you're completely different from an AI."
"Am I?" His face pinched up, and he looked away. Picking up his fork, he poked at the potatoes on his plate. "No, I'm exactly like the page. A program with sentience. A construct of a higher being. A messenger; an 'errand boy,' just as Morningstar said."
His shoulders scrunched, and his face tightened even further. I put my hand on his shoulder. "Isn't being an angel much more ..." I searched for the appropriate word, "I don't know ... glorious ... than that?"
Michael's voice was soft, but I could hear a distant thunder in his words. "When I threw Sammael out of heaven I was filled with a holy passion. I shouted: 'I am Michael, who is like God!' " His eyes sparkled with the memory. Then, he laughed and dropped his head slightly. "Sure, there were moments of glory – if war and carnage can, in fact, be glorious. I've tasted the other side now and find I'm tired of carrying the heavy sword of vengeance."
The word "vengeance" reminded me of earlier conversations with Michael. "But you came here on your own this time, you said, to stop Letourneau from using your name."
"That's not entirely true." Michael sighed. "I find the sin of omission easier than lying."
"Don't we all."
He rewarded me with a tired smile. "Yes, I guess we do. Truth is, I came to you on my own, but the Four were deployed to infiltrate the believers – to bring the truth to light."