11th May
Bishop Anthony Forrester was escorted into the interview room in which I was already sitting.
‘Good afternoon,’ I said to the bishop. ‘Please sit down.’
He sat down in the armchair facing mine.
‘Can I offer you some tea?’ I said.
‘You’ve no right to keep me here,’ the bishop said angrily, ignoring my offer.
‘These are strange times,’ I calmly replied. ‘You know more than most about how strange these end times are becoming.’
The bishop fell silent. The strategy Etienne had proposed – incorporating some biblical, apocalyptic elements – had clearly given Forester pause for thought.
‘You believe it is the end time,’ he said.
‘Let us not play games, Tony,’ I said to him. ‘You know about the asteroid. That will herald Judgement Day. ARK’s plans to deflect the asteroid will fail. Your only hope is to help me.’
The bishop blinked his eyes as if feeling a little sleepy. I guessed that the drug that had been added to his drink at lunchtime was taking effect.
Etienne had explained to me that a mild hallucinogen had been administered that would blur the boundaries for the bishop between fantasy and reality and make him susceptible to suggestion and unusual beliefs.
‘Are you the prophesied Anti-Christ?’ asked Forrester, fear in his eyes.
‘Arkangel believes that, doesn’t she?’ I said.
Etienne’s voice could be heard in my earpiece. He was not only listening, but also watching Forrester intently through the one way screen. ‘He was taken aback by the word she,’ said Etienne. ‘I think he knew Arkangel was a woman and was surprised that you did.’
‘I know all about Arkangel, or should I say Rikard?’ I continued.
‘That shocked him too,’ said Etienne in my earpiece. ‘His hands are shaking.’
‘There is nothing you can tell me about the plans for the asteroid,’ I said. ‘But I need to meet in person with Arkangel.’ I paused for dramatic effect. ‘Things will be easier for you on Judgement Day if you help me.’
I pointed to a pad of paper and a pencil on the low table next to Forrester’s chair. They slid across the table towards him with no obvious cause for their motion.
Forrester gasped.
Etienne’s conjuring trick with magnets had clearly added a further theatrical touch to the delusions of a fundamentalist that the Dark Arts were in play.
‘Write down for me how I can meet with Arkangel,’ I said.
Etienne had believed that it would be easier for Forrester to write down the details of Arkangel, rather than hear himself betraying his leader.
Forrester’s shaking hands picked up the pad and pencil, and he began to write.