“Thanks, Gayle,” he said, “for everything. We couldn’t have pulled any of it off without you. We’re in your debt and I personally hope our paths cross again.”

She gave a nod, her eyes cutting over to Schmidt, and replied softly, “Thanks, Jed.”

He nodded back, then took off for the hangar at a run to mobilize the team.

We should have seen this coming . . . I should have seen this coming, he thought, beating himself up. They’d stopped one attack, but Victor was the architect and he continued to stay one step ahead. To be a leader, I have to stop simply reacting and start thinking proactively.

To beat Victor, he needed to learn how to think like Victor, to anticipate his next move and be prepared with a countermove in advance. As a SEAL, that had never been his responsibility. As an operator, he’d been the club, not the hand swinging that club or the brain deciding where to hit.

To succeed as a Shepherd, he was going to have to learn how to be all three.

CHAPTER
THIRTY-NINE

DARK HORIZON FACILITY

NASHVILLE

2040 HOURS LOCAL

Victor’s mind was a chorus.

A chorus of fury and intent.

He had summoned many—as many dark angels as could be wooed to share his vessel—and he was full to bursting. The power was intoxicating, which was fortunate because the pressure was punishing. With so much rage to redirect, it was imperative that he keep them occupied, lest they turn on each other . . .

Or upon him.

And so occupied he had kept them.

To execute this mission, he’d needed tens of dozens to augment and bolster his intrinsic power. Keeping the Shepherds at bay and the Watchers in a fog of distraction while battle plans were being laid was beyond the skill of any lone warrior, even one knighted by the Dark Prince himself. To complete this mission required a legion.

And yet somehow, Ben Morvant and his new golden boy—Jedidiah Johnson—had beaten him once again. His own rage at being denied the victory in DC fueled the rage of the demons inside him. The plan to deploy the energy weapon had been perfection—a false flag operation that would be construed by faithful and faithless alike to mean that God had turned His once-loving face away from the spoiled child America had become. Tens of thousands, over time perhaps millions, of souls could have been kept from God’s light. It would have been a triumph for the Dark Prince, and he blamed Jedidiah Johnson for his failure.

And that wretched girl . . .