Sister Julianna, one of the Sisters of Plenitude who lived in the Saint Margaret's nunnery, was one of the rare female members of Exercitus Dei. She was changing Father Anthony's bandages when Father Cleese entered the holding house to tell him that Cardinal Francis Bertone had arrived from Rome and was waiting for him in Manchester Cathedral. Father Anthony groaned as the nun, dressed in the clothes of an ordinary housewife in order to preserve the house's secrecy, helped him back into his clothes, also those of a common working man. The cardinal had come to accept delivery of Philip Cranston’s Solomon Bottle. It would be extremely embarrassing to have to tell him that they had lost it.

     “Well, best to get it over with,” he muttered as he eased himself into a scruffy coat, the stitches pulling painfully at the wound in his side. “Putting it off won’t make it any easier.” He looked at the manacles hanging from the bare, bloodstained wall. The manacles that had recently contained Gideon. The safecracker was now at the bottom of the river, courtesy of Father May, who had accomplished his execution with much less fuss and bother than Father Anthony had managed his.

     Why did I ever think it was a good idea to hire that man? he berated himself. That man and his infernal sister. It should have been such a simple task. Just sneak into the house, open the safe, grab the bottle and sneak out again. How could the damned man have made such an almighty pig’s ear of it? Father Anthony had enjoyed an excellent reputation until recently. Now, because of the Kettles, he would be the laughing stock of Exercitus Dei. He hoped that God had set aside an especially hot corner of Hell for the pair of them.

     The three of them left the house and walked half a mile until they reached a busier part of town, where they caught a cab to take them the rest of the way to St Bennett's Church on Market Street, where they changed back into their normal clerical vestments. Sister Julianna then left to return to the nunnery until Father Anthony's bandages needed changing again, a task that could not be entrusted to a common doctor because of the need for secrecy. As soon as she was out of sight the two priests took a cab to the cathedral.

     The Archbishop of Manchester, the Most Reverend Lewis Collins, came to greet them as they entered and led them through to the Russell Room, a room set aside from the rest of the cathedral where private meetings could be held, away from the wagging ears of worshippers of whom there were always at least a dozen even at the most unsocial hours of the night. The Cardinal was inside, silently contemplating the icon of the Virgin Mary that stood in an alcove in the far wall, and he didn't turn as the Archbishop announced them. The Archbishop then turned and left. He wasn't a member of Exercitus Dei and so couldn’t be privy to what was about to be discussed.

    The Cardinal, as expected, took the news with a frown of disappointment. “This is very unfortunate,” he said as the two priests hung their heads with shame. “His Holiness was hoping for some good news. This rebellious organisation needs to be destroyed, and the sooner the better.”

     Something in the tone of his voice caused a shiver of apprehension to run up Father Anthony's spine. Father Cleese evidently felt it too as he shared a worried glance with his companion. “Has something happened?” he asked apprehensively.

     The Cardinal hesitated before speaking, as if his message would carry so much weight and impact that he had to struggle to find the words to convey them. “His Holiness gathered all his cardinals together on Easter Sunday to make an announcement,” he finally said. “To answer some rumours that have been circulating for some years now. You may have heard these rumours yourselves.”

     “There are always rumours,” replied Father Anthony. “Wise men do not pay attention to them.”

     “Quite right,” replied the Cardinal, “except that these rumours have been steadily growing stronger and more pervasive. His Holiness decided that they could no longer be ignored, and so he prayed to God for enlightenment, for the truth to be revealed to him. The convocation of cardinals was so that he could pass on to them what God had revealed to him.”

     He hesitated again. “The news he released is not for the clergy in general, and most definitely not for the lay population. Only the highest levels of the clergy have been told, plus those on the front line of the fight against the forces of discord, such as yourselves. Absolutely no word of this must pass beyond this room.” He had their full attention now, and they waited, tense and alert. The Cardinal waited for them to nod their understanding before he continued.

     “It concerns the rumours you have probably heard concerning Metatron. The rumours are true. He has defected.”

     “Metatron?” said Anthony, at first unable to understand. This wasn’t what he had been expecting. “I don't think I know any Metatron.” He searched through his memory for all the agents and contacts he knew, all of whom had their own code names for the sake of security.

     “Metatron, the Archangel of God,” said Cardinal Bertone impatiently. “Also known as Sar Ha Panim, Prince of the Countenance. Ha Naar, the Master of Wings. Bal Tanam, the Architect. He who sits, or sat, behind the Throne of God. Metatron. He has finally lost patience with the cruelty and malice of God and...”

     “What? Cruelty and malice? Wait, wait. Metatron? The Archangel Metatron?” Father Anthony floundered as he struggled to take in the staggering news. He stared at Father Cleese, who could only stare back, as dumbfounded as he was.

     “What do you mean, cruelty and malice?” demanded the other priest. “The Almighty loves us. He loves everything and everyone.”

     “Metatron believes otherwise," the Cardinal replied. "The Holy Father revealed that he deserted his post a hundred years ago. He is said to believe that God is unjust in his judgement of mortals and overly harsh in his punishment of sinners...”

     “That is not true!” protested Father Anthony. “Anyone can enter the Kingdom of Heaven. They only have to repent of their sins and beg forgiveness. It literally can't be any simpler.”

     “It doesn't matter whether his position is just or unjust,” said the Cardinal, though. “His defection is sure to encourage a host of other angels to defect with him. This is the most serious betrayal since the rebellion of Lucifer himself.”

     “One Archangel opposed to God was bad enough,” said Father Cleese. “Now there are two...”

     “And five more still loyal to God,” pointed out Father Anthony.

     The others nodded, all three of them trying to forget that the ranks of Hell had swelled since the rebellion of Lucifer by the addition of nearly a billion damned human souls. How many souls did it take to equal one angel? Ten? A hundred? A thousand? And how many angels were there? Revelations said ten thousand times ten thousand, but nearly half of them were now opposed to God. Even if it took a million damned human souls to overpower and subdue one angel, humanity might well control the balance of power when the Last Battle finally came.

     “You see now why I was really hoping for a breakthrough in the battle against the resistance,” said the Cardinal when enough time had passed for the other two men to regain their composure.

     “A breakthrough may still come, Your Eminence,” said Anthony. “We have another lead. A man whom we believe is soon to join the ranks of the resistance. We are waiting for him to be admitted to their organisation and learn their secrets, and then we will take him and extract everything he knows.”

     “And how long will this take?”

     “We are going to wait a couple of years. There's no point in arresting him prematurely, before he has been taken fully into their confidence. There is no hurry. The war we are fighting is being waged over centuries, over millennia, and there is no doubt as to the eventual outcome. I have the faith that Metatron evidently lacks, that the judgement of God is beyond question. If He seems harsh to us, then there is a reason for it that we poor mortals are unable to understand.”

     “Well spoken, my child,” said Bertone.

     There was a strange look on the face of Father Cleese, though, Father Anthony thought. A look that might almost signify doubt. The Cardinal evidently noticed it as well because he turned to him and fixed him with his steely grey eyes. “Do you not agree, Father Cleese?”

     “Yes, of course I do. His wisdom cannot be questioned.”

     Bertone frowned. “Speak, my son. You can speak freely here. What is troubling you?”

     Father Cleese stared at the icon of the Virgin Mary for a few moments before answering, as if he imagined that he was speaking to her instead of the Cardinal. “There was a fire in a shoe factory a couple of years back. A number of children died in the flames.”

     “Tragic,” replied Father Anthony, “but such things happen. The fault lies with the humans who were responsible for safety in the factory, not with...”

     “Yes, yes!” interrupted Cleese impatiently. “I was thinking of the fire fighters who entered the building to rescue the surviving children. There was a one man in particular. He entered the building alone just as it was about to collapse, even though the other fire fighters tried to hold him back. He knew that he could have been killed, or be disfigured or crippled by the flames. He didn't care. His only concern was to save one or two more children, and he did. He carried a boy of eleven away from certain death, suffering severe burns in the process. The man was a hero.”

     “An inspiration to us all,” replied Bertone. “What's your point?”

     “The man was a Jew.”

     Silence hung in the room as the meaning of his words sank in. “Is he still alive?” asked Anthony.

     “Yes. I visit him on occasion, to try to persuade him to accept salvation. So far, though, he refuses to abandon the faith of his ancestors. He refuses to accept Christ, to accept that Christ is the saviour that the Jews are still waiting for.”

     “Then you have done everything you can. All we can do is show them the way. If they choose to turn away, then that is their choice. The result of the free will that God promised us.”

     “Yes, I know. I have said the same thing in my sermons. I just... I just find it hard to accept that such a man deserves damnation. If any man deserves paradise, then surely it is him.”

     “God doesn't send people to Hell,” said the Cardinal. “He saves people from it. All they have to do is ask. Come, let us pray together. Maybe it will strengthen your faith, and He will grant you the gift of understanding.”

     He led the way back out into the main body of the cathedral and up to the chancel, where the three men knelt before the figure of Christ while Bertone led them in an impromptu service. Cleese’s voice was the loudest as he gave the ritual answers, as if he was struggling with himself to believe what he was saying. When it was over, Cleese begged the Cardinal to hear his confession and Bertone led him to one of the alcoves that lined the nave. Anthony, meanwhile, chatted with the Archbishop, who was curious about the reason for the Cardinal’s visit. Anthony told him that it was nothing more than a routine visit. Collins knew better, but he also understood what the priest was really telling him. Don't ask. Collins nodded, therefore, and went about his business.

     After Cleese had left with all his sins forgiven, Bertone approached Anthony one last time. “His faith is weak,” he said. “This is not a violation of the sanctity of confession, you saw his doubts for yourself. I recommend that he be removed from Exercitus Dei and returned to the status of the mundane clergy. He cannot be trusted with the duties that you must perform in the service of the Church.”

     “I had already reached the same conclusion,” replied Anthony. “It shall be done.”

     “Good. I shall return to Rome then. Please keep me informed on your progress here. The Resistance must be destroyed.”

     “It shall be. I give you my word.”

     Bertone nodded, then turned and left.