When I got there, she was distraught.

The AIBs had tossed Samangelaf's cell — the kind of going over that made what they'd done to my office look like an act of renovation.

Laura was fiddling with the charm bracelet fit to snap it. I took her hand and examined it. She voiced a halfhearted protestation, but by then I'd seen the amulet inscribed, in minute letters, 'Adam and Eve excluding Lilith'.

"He was one of the three, wasn't he?" I said. "One of the three who tried to stop her."

She gaped at me, bemusement etched on her lovely face.

"You didn't know."

"Know what?"

"Did Samangelaf tell you anything?"

"About what?" She was on the verge of tears. "All I know is he was talented and sensitive. He'd spent a long time compiling his book collection. I think he was researching something. There were things that seemed important to him, but which he was unwilling to speak of."

As elliptical answers go, it was a doozie.

"He gave you the bracelet, didn't he?"

She nodded.

"Did he ever talk about his old partners, Sanvi and Sansanvi?"

A shake of the head. "What have you found out? Whatever it is, please tell me."

"I haven't quite put everything together yet," I said. "Samangelaf's contact on earth is an angel. He was banished a long time ago. He told me about a conspiracy. I've discovered evidence that seems to support his allegations. There's a few things that don't add up, though. And there's still one person I need to talk to."

"What was he involved in? Please tell me."

"I can't. Not yet. It's probably best that you don't know. Just keep wearing the bracelet." I turned to go. "One more thing," I said, trying to be as cool about it as possible, "did he ever talk about Lucifer? Or, for that matter, talk to him?"

She gasped, her skin turning even paler as she stared at me, astounded, her eyes dilated.

I took it as a 'no'.

"Thought not," I grunted. "Up to me, then."

---

Flight is one of the main pleasures of being an angel. The moment you cross the Threshold, wings extended to their full span, and glide over to the other side, a feeling surges inside you like no other: a feeling of celestial superiority as you float down through the skies into a world of mortal indulgences. It's an ego-trip, no question about it, but how could it not be? For a brief period of time, as you soar over seas, beaches, fields, villages, towns and cities you have, in the most literal sense, the best of both worlds.

Airspace presents a problem, though.

The skies above central London are as carefully mapped-out as the Underground, an aerial grid with Heathrow at its center. I didn't want to risk life and limb playing dodge-the-747, so I came down at Stanmore and took the Jubilee line to Charing Cross.

The casino was in Soho, its grubby exterior at odds with the plush fittings inside. Big wads of money were lost there on a regular basis.

I took a wild guess that sauntering up to the reception desk and asking to see the manager wouldn't produce any results, so I used the column of light trick to get into his office. Expensively paneled walls, a huge mahogany desk and chiaroscuro lighting. He was dressed in a double-breasted black suit and a deep claret shirt (silk). His tie probably cost more than my entire wardrobe. He didn't bat an eyelid as I rematerialized.

"My name's Carter..." I began.

The CCTV system must have been topnotch. The door swung open and three heavies of the genus "brick shithouse" came piling in. I was shoved headfirst onto the desk, and guns were cocked by my ear like it was open auditions for the next Tarantino movie.

He waved them away.

I straightened up and plucked an imaginary speck of dust off my jacket. Just to establish my cool-as-a-recently-refrigerated-cucumber credentials, you dig.

"I know who you are and what you are," he said. "I take it you know who I am?"

"Yup."

"Go ahead. You can say it."

"Lucifer," I said. "Satan. Beelzebub. Whatever you like."

"Sir has a nice ring to it."

"Whatever," I said.

"Your excess of bravado would suggest an under endowment in the cerebral department. You didn't find me without a great degree of assistance. Tell me, Mr. Carter, on whose information are you acting."

"Gamaliel. He told me you knew the whole story."

"And he told you where to find me?"

"I broke into the Records Office."

"So they've found me again?"

I nodded.

"Another relocation to look forward to," he sighed. "You'd better say your piece and say it quickly."

"When I spoke to Gamaliel, he asked me from the start if I'd seen everything. I thought I had, but like most angels, I've only seen certain parts of Heaven and earth. I've never seen Hell.

"It was so simple the way Gamaliel put it. I'd never thought about it like that before. Never realized that the entire concept is built on an inherent dichotomy."

"That if sinners are punished in Hell — and Hell is the domain of the Adversary, the Antichrist, the Evil One — how do you reconcile my reputation as God's nemesis with the fact that, by punishing wrongdoers, I would, essentially, be subcontracting to Heaven?" There was a wry smile on his lips. The glint in his eyes spelled out vindication. I wondered how many thousands of years he'd been waiting for someone to twig on.

"Dogma overlooks it," I said, "and I can see why. Because of the answer."

"That I'm (a) not in charge of Hell, (b) not the Adversary, (c) in no way evil, or (d) all of the above."

"My money's on (d)," I said.

"Ladies and gentlemen, we have a winner." He flipped a switch and a wall panel slid back to reveal a drinks cabinet stocked like a barfly's wet dream.