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Thrist thinks it’s a lower level demon like Moloch or Rahab, but Rabbi Shotzen concedes it may be Mastema.”
    “I’d like to leave,” Andy said, attempting to sound calm. “Right now.”
    “Don’t worry. He’s not violent. I’ve even been in the dwelling with him. He’s just scary looking, is all. And that Plexiglas barrier is rated to eight tons. It’s as safe as visiting the monkey house at the zoo.”
    Andy tried to find the words.
    “You’re a lunatic,” he decided.
    “Look, Andy, I’ve been watching after Bub for over forty years. We’ve had the best of the best in the world here—doctors, scientists, holy men, you name it. We’ve found out so much, but the rest is just theory. Bub’s awake now, and trying to communicate. You’re the key to that. Don’t you see how important this is?”
    “I’m…” Andy began, searching his mind for a way to put it.
    Race finished the thought for him. “Afraid. Of course you’re afraid. Any damn fool would be, seeing Bub. We’ve been taught to fear him since we were born. But if I can paraphrase Samuel Butler, we don’t know the Devil’s side of the story, because God wrote all the books. Just think about what we can learn here.”
    “You’re military,” Andy accused. “I’m sure the weapons implications of controlling the Prince of Darkness aren’t lost on you.”
    Race lost his friendly demeanor, his eyes narrowing.
    “We have an opportunity here, Mr. Dennison. An opportunity that we haven’t had since Christ walked the earth. In that room is a legendary creature, and the things that he could teach us about the world, the universe, and creation itself staggers the imagination. You’ve been chosen to help us, to work with our team in getting some answers. Many would kill for the chance.”
    Andy folded his arms. “You expect me to believe not only that the devil is harmless and just wants to have a chat, but that the biggest government conspiracy in the history of the world has only good intentions?”
    Race’s face remained impassive for a few seconds longer, and then he broke out laughing.
    “Damn, that does sound hard to swallow, don’t it?”
    Andy couldn’t help but warm a bit at the man’s attitude. “General Murdoch…”
    “Race. Call me Race. And I understand. I’ve been part of the Project so long the whole thing is the norm to me. You need to eat, rest, think about things. We’ll grab some food and I’ll show you your room.”
    “And if I want to leave?”
    “This isn’t a prison, son. I’m sure you weren’t the only guy on the President’s list. You’re free to go whenever you please, so long as you never mention this to anyone.”
    Andy took a deep, calming breath and the effects of the adrenaline in his system began to wear off. Race opened the gate and they began their trek back down the hallway.
    “The world really is going to hell, isn’t it?” Andy said.
    Race grinned. “Sure is. And we’ve got a front row seat.”

B reakfast was light but nourishing, consisting of banana muffins, sausage, and coffee. The coffee was the only thing fresh. The food, like all food in the compound, was frozen and then microwaved. Race told Andy that refrigeration had been possible since the compound was created, but the small group of people who lived here didn’t warrant the constant trips to refresh supplies. Instead, two huge freezers were stocked several times a year with everything from cheese and bread to Twinkies and Snickers. Milk, an item that didn’t freeze well, was available vacuum-packed.
    “How many people are here right now?” Andy asked, stirring more sugar into his coffee.
    They sat on orange chairs at a Formica table with a sunflower pattern. Green 2—or the Mess Hall as Race called it—doubled as both a dining area and a kitchen. The decor, save for the microwaves, was pure 1950s cafeteria.
    “Eight, including you. The holies, the priest and the rabbi, leave for brief periods every so often. Everyone