Patterson managed to ignore the profanity, speaking softly.
“Israel must ensure its survival in the Holy Lands.”
“Israel can take care of itself. If the Arabs want to blow themselves to hell, then let ’em. We’re just providing the hardware.”
“And if the conflict should end?”
Byron Stone ignored the pastor for a moment, pausing to light a thick cigar that spiraled hot smoke into the already humid air around them. He dribbled a thick stream of aromatic fumes from between his lips to hang over the listless water.
“As long as Senator Black supports the export of arms and promotes a policy of zero tolerance toward terrorist-supported governments, we both win.”
“How can I be sure that you will honor your part of the bargain?” Patterson asked. “I don’t want your people dropping rocks if they get too hot.”
Stone’s eyelid twitched. “You sayin’ I don’t got the balls for this?”
“I’m asking if you have the will.”
The Texan’s features creased into a thin smile as he examined the glowing tip of his cigar.
“I would say that we have mutually assured destruction, wouldn’t you?”
Patterson nodded. “And the experiments?”
Byron Stone worked his jaw silently for a moment before speaking.
“Rapid hypothermic surgical response to battlefield trauma is a useful addition to MACE’s armory, but it’s not essential and your goddamn experiments sure as hell aren’t. I’m not willing to risk a federal investigation here in DC.”
“Security for the experiments was part of the bargain when I bailed MACE out,” Patterson reminded him. “Thirty million Americans follow my church. Think how many will follow it if these endeavors succeed.”
“I think you put far too much faith in the power of your flock,” Stone murmured, “and not enough thought into how you’re using it.”
“You have the photographs?” Patterson demanded, and grabbed the envelope Stone handed him with greedy hands, flicking through the images. “My God, look at it,” he marveled. “Look at the chest plate, built to support wings, and the cranial cavity, a brain far larger than our own. A Nephilim, a fallen angel of God.”
Stone drew on his cigar. “Whatever.”
“Science supports it,” Patterson said with quiet confidence. “We have already extracted the mitochondrial DNA from the other fragments we’ve acquired, and the full genome is not far behind. This will change the face of humanity forever.”
“Strange,” Stone murmured, “how your church denies science with one breath and yet embraces it with the next.”
Patterson struggled to cope with Stone’s ignorance. That any man could display such indifference to the divine staggered him.
“We’re searching for creation, searching for the face of God. What greater purpose can there be than finding the cause of everything in our universe and communicating with it? How can we sit on the precipice of discovery and not act when we have the chance to prove the divinity of the Lord?”
A long silence ensued as the Texan inhaled deeply upon his cigar, expelling blue smoke in diaphanous whorls.
“Do you have faith, Pastor?” Stone asked finally, as he stared out over the Potomac.
“I have absolute faith,” Patterson replied instantly. “God is always with me.”
Stone smiled without warmth. “If that were truly so, you wouldn’t need these experiments of yours, would you?”
Patterson kept his gaze fixed on Stone. “I seek only confirmation,” he insisted, “for the sake of all manki—”
“You seek proof because you’re not sure,” the Texan interrupted. “People who claim absolute conviction without evidence are setting themselves up for a fall. Don’t wish too hard,” he said with a cold smile, “you don’t know what you might find.”
“Our influence is waning,” Patterson lamented. “Americans do not worship with the passion of previous generations. There have been too many scandals, too much corruption, too many empty promises. The people are turning to personal faith and this is the only way to save them from the abyss, to prove that what we believe is true by cloning these remains and resurrecting an angel on Earth, a Nephilim.”
“I’m in this for the money,” Stone said as he stood, “not for heavenly glory or your supposed salvation.”
“A pity,” Patterson said, “that you place money above faith. It would be a shame to see MACE assets sold off to avoid bankruptcy.”
Stone glared at Patterson for a long beat before flicking the smoldering butt of his cigar into the Potomac.
“MACE will continue to protect your grotty little experiments—for now—but if you push this too far, you’ll end up exposing us all, and then you can go to hell for your protection.”