What Would Satan Do_ - Anthony Miller [58]
“Okay,” said Cadmon, letting out a breath. “He wants to meet with you.”
Whitford said nothing.
“The angel does. Here.”
Whitford still sat, impassive and toad-like.
“So, he’s coming. Here. To meet with you. And he’s—”
Whitford interrupted with an abrupt burst of sound, reinforcing the idea that he was, in fact, a very large, very pale amphibian. “When?” he croaked.
“I— I don’t know exactly. Soon.”
“Tomorrow? Next week? How soon?”
“Any minute now.”
“Jesus!” Whitford stood, his toad-like impassivity gone. “Is he just going to walk up the steps?”
Cadmon sighed, defeated. “No, he’ll just appear.”
“Good.” Another nod, which immediately changed into the kind of assholic look of condescension that can only be achieved when a really large person in a position of authority tucks his outermost chin and stares down his nose. “With those goddamned giant wings—”
Cadmon looked up, right in Whitford’s eyes. “How do you know—?”
“Oh—well, I assume—I mean, he’s an angel, right? And angels have wings.” Whitford smiled. “So anyway, is that all you came here to tell me?”
Cadmon didn’t answer immediately. “What are you going to do now?” he asked.
“What do you mean, what am I going to do now?”
“You now control more than 50% of the country’s refining capacity, and three of the four main oil pipeline entry points. That gives you a lot of power,” said the preacher, an exaggerated smirk on his face. “Just imagine what you could do.”
“Is that why you’re here? To play ‘what-if’?” He glared at Cadmon. “You came to me with this idea.”
“I know I did. Of course I did.” Cadmon sat, looking a little sullen.
“Remember?”
“Yes, Dick, but—”
“But what?”
“Well, you can’t just stop. You have to keep going. Move on to the next state; the next conquest!”
“What the hell are you talking about?”
“Oh, come on, Dick! You know what’s at stake!”
“No, I don’t,” he said.
“It’s—” Cadmon laughed, shaking his head. “Jesus Christ, Dick. Don’t you get it? It’s Judgment Day. Armageddon. That’s why the angel is here.” The preacher looked as if he might cry.
“Don’t give me any of that mystical ‘It’s the End Times’ crap. I want to know what the hell is going on!”
“That is what’s going on. That’s what the angel is doing – getting the ball rolling to bring about Judgment Day.”
Whitford sneered, but didn’t say anything.
The preacher continued. “I’ve been asked to help facilitate.”
The governor let out a loud guffaw. “So, let me get this straight,” he said. “An angel came down from Heaven and somehow got you involved in – what, exactly? – bringing about the end of the world?”
Cadmon stared, a defiant look on his face. This was more like the reaction he’d expected. “Yes,” he said. “Well, no.”
“Which is it?”
“I’m supposed to find people. People to play certain roles.”
“And I’m one of those people?”
Cadmon looked sheepish. “Yes.”
Whitford sat, apparently mulling it over. “What,” he said finally, “is my role, exactly?”
“Well,” said Cadmon, “you were supposed to take over the State of Louisiana.”
“Yeah, I got that. Thanks. Now tell me why I’m supposed to take over Louisiana.”
“It was supposed to be a starting point. And now you’re supposed to move on to other states, and eventually…”
“What in God’s name are you talking about?”
“Well, you know—”
“I don’t know.”
Cadmon sighed. “In the Bible,” he said, “there are certain roles prophesized.”
“Roles?”
“Yeah, the four horsemen,” he said, and then lowered his voice. “And there are some others.”
Whitford raised his eyebrows.
“Well, there’s the Antichrist. You know—and I think there may be some others.”
“And which am I supposed to be?”
“Well, it’s not clear exactly. They didn’t tell me which one you’re supposed to be. They just—”
“Bull. Shit.”
Cadmon’s reluctance to speak gave way at last, and the words came pouring out. “The angel told me to find a leader. A conqueror. They wanted someone who would have no problem taking over a neighboring state. Someone who could take control of Louisiana. And then move on to other states. Someone who would have no problem running things. If