The Magnificent Mile, Chicago
Emily regained her position, but she realized that time was nearly up. She waited until Marcianus was once more entranced in his incantation, his eyes rolling up in his head in something close to ecstasy, and she charged again. Her hand grabbed the upper edge of the plinth and she tried to pull herself atop it before he could react, but the man caught sight of her approach and delivered another vicious blow to her head. His conviction seemed to give him strength, and once again he sent her reeling back into the crowd.
Marcianus’s chest filled with a great breath as he turned again to his recitation, and came upon the concluding phrases of the Liberation Incantation, bellowing them out for all to hear.
‘Ours is the day and this moment our own:
Behold now what light and force shall split the world –
Now choose your death, and we, our glory!’
At the very moment the final words left his mouth, a man in crimson-fringed black garments, a large gold cross suspended from his neck, appeared at Emily’s side. Cardinal O’Dowd looked up at Marcianus, then passed a determined glance at Emily and Michael.
‘You’re the ones who called for help?’
‘We are. He’s the leader of this sect. They have a bomb.’ Emily pointed up at Marcianus, her head still spinning and her breath gone. The Great Leader’s eyes were closed, his arms raised heavenward in glory.
The Cardinal pulled up the sleeves of his cassock. The arms underneath were covered in short, grey hairs, but they were muscular. He stared up at the man he knew he had to stop, readying himself with a series of deep breaths. His posture was ready to charge.
Before he could lunge, a body burst through the nearby crowd and threw itself at him, toppling the prelate and crashing down on top of him. A heavy velvet robe covered the attacker’s frame, concealing his features, but as he rose upon the winded Cardinal his hood fell over his shoulders and the man’s familiar visage was laid plain before them. Governor Aaron Wilson was red-faced, frantic, and lacking any of the political restraint that all politicians normally bore. He was a man enraged.
Pulling back his right arm for a blow aimed at the side of the Cardinal’s head, the Governor made the mistake of leaving his midsection exposed. Cardinal O’Dowd was no more used to hand-to-hand fighting than the politician, but he knew an opportunity when he saw it. Buckling his knuckles into a fist, he drove his arm into the Governor’s stomach. Reeling forward, Wilson’s eyes bulged as the air was knocked from his diaphragm, and the Cardinal drew up his right knee into the Governor’s groin, simultaneously landing an upward blow to the left side of his head. The combination was enough, and Governor Wilson, his body tensing only a moment, collapsed on top of him.
Cardinal O’Dowd rolled the Governor’s body off his and stood upright. The confrontation had taken only a manner of seconds, but more remarkable than the fact of the Governor’s behaviour was that the whole brawl had not seemed to distract the man atop the concrete plinth. Marcianus still had his arms raised, his eyes elevated, and his lips continued to recite his chant.
The Cardinal pulled straight his garments, glanced at Emily and Michael, then turned back to Marcianus.
‘Let me show you how to negotiate with a heretic.’
Taking his cassock in hand, Cardinal O’Dowd took three large steps back, then charged at the concrete plinth at a full run. Using the rounded rim at its base as a step, he propelled himself upward with all his force and barrelled into Marcianus. Wrapping his encrimsoned arms around the shocked Great Leader, the two men went flying off the mount and crashed onto the pavement below.
Twisting instinctively as he fell, Marcianus misjudged the distance and fell face first, wheezing as the air was knocked out of his lungs. The Cardinal’s full weight came down on top of him, and the sound of breaking ribs registered in his ears. The prelate pulled himself off the other man’s body and rolled him over.
Marcianus was stunned. There were not meant to be any interruptions. The incantation was paramount. Arrangements had been made.
He forced his mind to attention. The Cardinal was rounding on him. He was a surprisingly strong man. He would not stop his assault.
Marcianus reached down to his hip. Aqmal’s kabar was in its sheath, and he unsnapped the leather restraining strap, wrapping his fist around the grip. Man of the cloth or not, the Cardinal was not going to interrupt his work.
Governor Wilson sputtered as his breath returned, blood filling his mouth from the Cardinal’s blows. His vision was blurred, the sky above him swirling. He lay on his back. The cleric had dropped him and moved on.
He forced his mind back to attention and squinted until proper vision returned.
And then he heard the sounds to his left.
He rolled himself onto his side and saw an impossible sight. The Great Leader lay on his back, his face bloodied, the Cardinal rising from the ground near his feet, making ready to attack again.
It was something that simply could not be allowed.
Cardinal O’Dowd forced his knees to straighten and reclaimed a standing position near Marcianus’s ankles. The man was still moving. He had to be stopped, completely. Pulling back his fist, he leaned down and pushed all the strength he could muster into a blow aimed at Marcianus’s face.
It was then that he saw the flicker of light at the man’s side, and the convulsing of muscles at Marcianus’s shoulder. The Cardinal’s mind processed the information instantly. A knife. The man was fighting back.
At the same instant, a guttural cry tore through the air behind him. Even with the rage it now possessed, O’Dowd recognized the voice. The Governor was back in action, lunging at him from the rear. He was about to be pinned between two men, one of whom was already raising a blade towards his chest.
The Cardinal’s instincts took over, and he contorted his body to the right just as he was about to land atop Marcianus. Buckling as he hit the ground, he tucked his knees upwards and rolled.
Governor Wilson saw the cleric’s body shift to the side, but it was too late for him to stop his lunge. His body plummeted downward, intractably aimed at that of his Great Leader, whose knife was now pointed directly at his chest.
The Governor fell upon the knife, his eyes as wide as Marcianus’s. The blade stood firm as his body hit it, ramming the knife deep into his chest, deflecting off his ribs and coming to rest in the centre of his heart. For an instant, time froze, and neither man moved. Then Wilson coughed, staring into Marcianus’s eyes, and a second later his lifeless body went limp.
Emily and Michael raced to the bodies, Michael pinning down Marcianus by the shoulders as Emily rolled the Governor’s dead frame off him. The crowd had parted at the fight and now gathered in a ring, encircling the action. Television cameras appeared as if from nowhere, honing in on the strange activity that had, almost beyond belief, claimed the life of a sitting Governor.
A moment later, ground reinforcements from the police flooded into the circle, responding to the same radio call that had alerted Cardinal O’Dowd. A uniformed officer approached Michael, still pinning down Marcianus, and put a strong hand on his shoulder.
‘Sir, we can take him from here.’
His eyes still locked on Marcianus’s, Michael gradually released his hold, then stood over the fallen man.
It was then that Marcianus began to laugh. Gently at first, but soon with deeper, fuller conviction. His face shimmered in a great smile.
‘You’re too late!’ he shouted with maniacal joy, blood spattering from his mouth. ‘It is already done. And now, the great light comes!’
He lifted his arms skyward, his fingers framing the tower from which deliverance was about to flow.